Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castiel finished spreading the jelly on the white bread, and then carefully put the two slices together, crusts lining up symmetrically. It had been a while since he'd had the luxury of eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, what with working that case of angel slayings in Wyoming, getting captured and tortured by Malachi's faction, and then helping Dean chase down an angel-possessed Sam.

Things had calmed down, finally. Sam was safe. Dean was too, though on a self-imposed exile. And Castiel had been allowed to stay in the bunker again. He'd also gotten his grace back. Well, not his grace. Theo's essence simmered within him uncomfortably, somewhat like when he'd experienced indigestion as a human. Yes, it gave him access to angelic powers, but it didn't make him whole, didn't even give him his wings back. Still, it made him useful again, and able to once more help the Winchesters clean up the mess he'd caused with the angels falling. Not to mention Castiel could take over the rest of Sam's healing. In stages, anyway.

Sam was currently out, and Castiel was stealing a moment of indulgence. He took a slow bite of the sandwich, prepared to savor the splash of moist fruitiness and creamy peanut butter hitting his taste buds. Yet the moment the bread touched his tongue, Castiel frowned at the coarse texture. Then came the taste of nuttiness and dirt and…a trace of fungal residue. His face scrunched up further as he chewed. This was terrible…

The bunker door opened and closed with a click. "Hey," Sam said as he descended the stairs.

Castiel forced himself to swallow the mash of unpleasant mush in his mouth. It left his tongue feeling like sandpaper. "Tastes like…molecules." Which was very disappointing. He'd been looking forward to this sandwich, and it was practically inedible. To an angel, anyway.

"What?" Sam asked, joining him at the map table. "What are you talking about?"

Castiel looked at the sandwich ruefully. "When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying." He dropped the sandwich back on the table.

"Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying," Sam agreed.

"But…" Castiel gestured at the spread of ingredients. "I enjoyed the taste of food. Particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling." He didn't understand how anyone could eat jam. But, he supposed now it would taste no different to him.

Sam set his plastic grocery bag on the table and then sat on the edge. "So, what? Now you can't taste PB&J?" He dipped his finger in a glob of the mixture from Castiel's plate and put it in his mouth.

Castiel watched him enviously. "No, I-I taste every molecule." He dipped his finger in the peanut butter and tentatively touched it to his tongue, hoping maybe a whole bite was just too much at one time.

He grimaced. Nope.

"Not the sum of its parts, huh?" Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. "It's overwhelming. It's disgusting." He sighed. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small price to pay for becoming an angel again, but still… "I miss you, PB&J."

Castiel pushed his chair back and stood up. "We need to continue your healing. We're almost done."

Sam was doing very well, actually, and didn't even show any outward signs of illness anymore, but Castiel would still feel better once every single trace of trauma was gone from his internal organs. Castiel placed two fingers to Sam's forehead and began the healing process.

Speaking of traces… This wasn't the first time Castiel had sensed something strange during their healing sessions, but he had thought perhaps it was a fluke, or the interference of the foreign grace swirling inside him that he was accessing for power. But now Castiel realized what he was sensing faded a fraction more each time he healed Sam. He frowned in contemplation.

"What?" Sam asked.

Castiel startled slightly. "Nothing."

Sam slapped his hand away. "You're a terrible liar."

"That is not true," Castiel protested vehemently. "I once deceived and betrayed both you and your brother."

That…probably shouldn't have been a character quality he tried to defend.

Sam shot him an exasperated glare. "Okay, that's not the point. Cas, what's wrong?"

He shifted uncomfortably, almost wishing he was a better liar. Sam was still sensitive about the whole Gadreel fiasco, and Castiel didn't want to agitate him further. But…Sam did have a right to know.

"I noticed something. It's, uh…it's resonating inside you."

Sam's brows rose a fraction. "What?"

"Something angelic."

Sam's throat bobbed, and he ducked his gaze a moment, obviously trying to collect himself. "Okay, uh, what the hell does that mean?"

Castiel grimaced. "Maybe we should call Dean." Whatever was inside Sam wasn't a threat to the Winchester, that much Castiel could tell, but he still thought that Dean should be there to help with this, since Castiel didn't know exactly what they were dealing with.

Sam shook his head sharply and moved to take a seat in a chair. "No. He wanted to go, and he's gone. We'll handle this."

Castiel held back a sigh. It made his heart ache to see the brothers fighting like this. Granted, what Dean had done was monumentally stupid and dangerous, and a lot of bad had happened because of it. But he had only been trying to help Sam because Dean loved him so much. Castiel understood what it was like to try to help, only to make things worse. He knew it all too well.

"Alright," he said. "We can start with research."

Research revealed that Sam had a remnant of Gadreel's grace inside him. Grace that they could use to track Gadreel if they extracted enough of it. Unfortunately, that involved a procedure that would be horrendously painful for Sam, not to mention the Men of Letters had never been able to test the tracking spell, so there was no guarantee it would even work. Sam was intent on it, though.

Castiel really thought Dean should be there for this, but if they called him, there was no way in hell he'd let his little brother torture himself this way. And while Castiel wasn't as motivated to go this route as Sam was, he had to acknowledge that there was potential value in it. Which was why he was following Sam toward the medical ward.

"Sam, may I ask you a question?"

Sam smirked. "You just did."

Castiel paused. Oh, right. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Well, technically, you…" Sam glanced over his shoulder, and then shook his head. "Yeah, go ahead. What's up?"

Castiel stepped into the doorway of the medical ward and stopped. "Sam, the Trials. You chose not to go through with them for a reason, didn't you? You chose to live rather than to sacrifice yourself. You and Dean…you chose each other."

Sam rolled his neck in obvious discomfort. "Yeah, I did. We did. And then…Dean made a choice for me." He pushed past Castiel into the medical room.

"What Dean did…it was only because he loves you so much."

Sam let out a derisive snort as he set the box he'd been carrying on a table next to a gurney. "Dean didn't trick me into angel possession because he cares about me. He did it because he's selfish. He…" Sam shook his head in frustration. "He's afraid to be alone, that's what it is. But you know what? It doesn't even matter what Dean did. I could have put a stop to all this, Cas. I could have closed the gates of Hell." The regret and self-loathing wafting off the young Winchester made Castiel's heart ache more.

"Oh, Sam." He wanted to offer some kind of comfort or encouragement. Certainly Dean would know what to say if he were here. Or…maybe not, given his role in the present circumstances. "You and Dean have fought before, and you've always found it in yourselves to forgive each other. Hell may be still be open, but you two are stronger together, as you've proven time and time again—"

"Dean's gone, okay?" Sam cut him off. "This is on me now, and if I can find Gadreel…I can fix this."

It took Castiel a moment to realize Sam wasn't talking about closing the gates of Hell anymore. That had been before Gadreel had even entered the picture. No, Sam must be talking about the prophet, Kevin. Of course he would blame himself for the boy's death. So did Dean, Castiel knew.

Sam unbuttoned his plaid shirt and shrugged it off, leaving just a thin white tee. "Now, being a human means settling your debts." He picked up the box again and passed it to Castiel before sitting on the gurney. "Let's start balancing the books."

Castiel opened the box and looked at the huge syringe. He knew what Sam was trying to do; Castiel had been trying to do penance ever since he'd taken Sam's Cage scars. But why couldn't the Winchester see that he didn't need to do this, that none of what happened was his fault? Gadreel's actions weren't on Sam. In fact, everything could be traced back to Castiel's foolishness and his own poor decisions. Gadreel never would have tricked Dean and Sam if the angels hadn't been cast out of Heaven. And if Castiel hadn't stupidly believed Metatron, he wouldn't have lost his grace, and would've been able to heal Sam himself. The young Winchester shouldn't be punished for Castiel's mistakes.

Unfortunately, the only way to begin to rectify them was to track down Gadreel, and this was their best lead.

Castiel lifted the syringe and moved over to the gurney where Sam was now laying. Positioning the four-inch needle at a seventy-five degree angle, Castiel carefully inserted it into Sam's neck, right below his ear. Sam let out a pained gasp.

Castiel winced in sympathy. "Now comes the part that will actually hurt. I'm gonna begin the extraction."

He slowly pulled back on the plunger, and a splash of angel grace spilled into the bottom of the barrel. Sam jerked, hands fisting at his sides as he bit his lip to keep from crying out.

"Is it working?" he wheezed.

"Yeah…" Castiel admitted, staring at the tiny bit of celestial essence.

Sam shuddered. "But?"

Castiel swallowed. "I-I need to push the needle in deeper. We need more grace in order to cast the spell."

"Okay." Sam gritted his teeth. "Do it."

He hesitated. "Sam, if I get too close to—"

"Dammit, Cas! Just do it."

Shaking his head in exasperation, Castiel nevertheless pushed the needle in deeper. When he pulled back on the plunger again, Sam's body lurched violently, and he suddenly made a series of choking hiccups. Castiel sensed Sam's cells quivering on the molecular level as they inexplicably began breaking down. He quickly withdrew the needle.

Sam's eyes snapped open, pupils wide and wild as he gasped for breaths. "What the hell was that?"

"Your body is regressing to the state it was in before Gadreel." Dammit, Castiel should have known this was a bad idea.

Sam tried to push himself up on one elbow. "Do we have enough grace for the summoning spell?"

Castiel shot him a disapproving look. "Sam."

"Do we or not, Cas?"

Castiel drew in a sharp breath through his nose. "No."

Sam laid his head back down. "Then keep going."

Castiel glanced between a shaky Sam and the tiny bit of grace in the syringe's vial. They shouldn't do this, yet they had no other method of finding Gadreel. Castiel reluctantly reinserted the needle into Sam's neck, pushing it deeper. When he pulled the plunger back again, Sam's body jerked soundlessly. The Winchester bit his lip against the pain, shaking almost uncontrollably now. Castiel had to brace a hand on Sam's forehead so he wouldn't accidentally torque the needle. More grace flowed into the vial, and then Sam went limp.

Castiel's heart jolted. "Sam? Sam!"

Sam's eyelids fluttered. "Keep going," he rasped.

"Why?" Castiel nearly growled. If they kept this up, Sam could very well die. Didn't he see that?

"We-we," Sam stuttered. "We have to find Gadreel."

"It's not worth your life."

"No," Sam gasped. "My life's not worth any more than anyone else's—not yours or Dean's…" His voice cracked. "Or Kevin's. Please. Please, help me do one thing right." Sam grabbed Castiel's hand and tried to make him push the needle in further. "Keep going."

Castiel was torn, he truly was. He hated to see Sam suffering, not just from physical pain, but also the emotional trauma and guilt of the past few months. Castiel could stop one, but increase the other. Or vice versa. And he hated that this decision was in his hands. But Sam's wishes had been made perfectly clear…

Steeling himself, Castiel pushed the needle in further, and Sam finally screamed.

Castiel tried to shove his reservations aside, tried to summon up the callousness he used to possess as an angel of the lord, the emotional detachment that let him make hard decisions for the greater good. But he couldn't do it. Sam, his friend, was lying on this gurney, suffering immeasurably as Castiel did nothing short of torture him. Greater good or not, Castiel wasn't that angel anymore. He didn't want to be.

"Hold on, this may pinch." He pulled the needle all the way out, and then pressed two fingers to Sam's forehead, healing the degeneration of his cells and the wounds received during the extraction process. Castiel had never been more relieved to see the blood that'd been dripping from Sam's nose and ear vanish.

Sam jerked upright. "Cas, what the hell was that?"

"I've healed your wounds completely," he replied casually.

Sam sputtered at him. "And the grace?"

"Well, whatever grace was inside you is gone now. What's left of Gadreel is in here." He set the syringe on the table. "We'll just have to try the spell with what we have."

Sam swung himself off the gurney. "Dammit, Cas!"

Castiel drew his shoulders back. "Sam, I want to find Gadreel as much as you do. But nothing is worth losing you."

Sam snatched his shirt up and stormed to the corner where he roughly shoved his arms through the sleeves.

Castiel sighed, deflating some. "You know, being human, it didn't just change my view of food. It changed my view of you. I mean, I can relate now to how you feel."

Sam turned around, quirking a perplexed look at him. "What are you talking about?"

Castiel smiled ruefully. "The only person who has screwed things up more consistently than you…is me. And now I know what that guilt feels like. And I know what it…" He swallowed hard. "I know what it means to feel sorry, Sam. I am sorry."

For so much, more than they had time to go over. Castiel could only pray the spell worked, and he could finally do something to perhaps ease both their guilt, even if Sam's wasn't rightfully his to bear.

Sam's expression softened, his reply quiet, "I know."

Castiel offered an encouraging smile, and picked up the syringe sloshing with grace. "Let's see if this works."

They headed back out to the war room where they'd gathered the supplies for the spell. Castiel mixed the initial ingredients in a bowl, and lastly plucked the plunger from the bottom of the syringe before tipping the glowing grace into the mixture. He said the incantation, and held his breath.

The ingredients in the bowl began smoking, and then popped with a startling sound. Tendrils of ash curled upward, and then bent sideways to trickle down over the map table. Castiel narrowed his eyes as it settled over a spot in Colorado.

"That's where Gadreel is," he said.

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked. "Guess we're going on a road trip."

Castiel refrained from mentioning that's exactly what Dean and he had done the last time they'd tracked Gadreel—wearing Sam. But this time wasn't a rescue mission.

Castiel briefly considered calling Dean and giving him a heads-up. Perhaps the older Winchester was in the area and could join them. They could certainly use more hands on deck. But Sam would be angry, and Dean hadn't exactly been willing to stick around himself. And in that state, the two brothers were likely to throw each other off rather than work together as the skilled unit they could be.

Which left just Castiel and Sam to hunt down the infamous traitor of Heaven and Earth.

Chapter Text

Castiel's Lincoln Continental coasted down the highway. It lacked the rev of the Impala, the sleek build, but Castiel liked it nonetheless. It was the first thing he'd truly owned as a human, and had served as a reliable source of transportation and housing once he'd quit his job at the Gas-N-Sip. And since his wings were still gone, it was the fastest way to get around.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, stiffly quiet. He'd given Castiel's car a somewhat unimpressed look when they'd started out toward Colorado. Castiel figured he was just missing the Impala. It was awkward, this current arrangement with Castiel behind the wheel, when Dean had always driven everywhere. Sam had also made a few grumbling comments about Castiel's insistence on following the speed limit, which the angel had dismissed. They didn't need to get pulled over by a cop before they found Gadreel.

In the silence of the car ride, Castiel had ample time to think. He'd been furious when he'd discovered Gadreel's identity. Because of one angel, all of humanity had fallen into depravity, Creation cursed to struggle and die until the end of time. Gadreel's actions had necessitated the need for an Apocalypse. Yet as much as Castiel would like to make Gadreel pay for that sin—and for the things he'd done while possessing Sam—he was beginning to doubt that was the best course of action.

Castiel cleared his throat and cast a sidelong glance at his taciturn partner. "Sam…" He remembered not to ask if he could ask a question. "May we speak about something? Not Dean," he added quickly.

Sam shrugged. "Okay. What?"

"I wanted to ask you about Gadreel, the time he possessed you."

Sam's jaw tightened. "That's not really something I want to talk about."

"I understand, but I believe it could be useful. Anything at all you remember. Please."

Sam was quiet for a beat. "He didn't possess me completely—more like we, uh…shared housing. I was still me."

Castiel nodded in contemplation. That made sense. When they'd been trying to exorcise Gadreel, they knew the angel had been keeping Sam in a corner of his own mind, living out a false reality.

"Did you ever sense a presence?"

"I don't really know what I felt." He let out a small huff. "I mean, maybe that I wasn't completely alone."

"Did you ever feel threatened?"

"No. More that he…wasn't at rest, like he had unfinished business. I guess, maybe, I- I'd say he felt misunderstood." Sam's face scrunched up in apparent distaste at the admission.

Castiel's mind was whirring more now. "But not…not a danger, not hostile."

"No." Sam scowled. "But I was wrong, obviously. He killed Kevin."

Yes, there was that, but Castiel didn't think Gadreel had anything personal against the prophet. More likely he'd been acting under Metatron's orders. The Scribe was their true enemy here.

They entered the city limits of where the tracking spell said Gadreel was supposed to be. Narrowing down a precise location was going to be tricky, but they needed to figure out what the angel was up to, and soon.

Something prickled along the edges of Castiel's senses, a strum of a distant chord that resonated within his grace. He straightened abruptly, cranking the steering wheel without thinking.

"Cas—" Sam exclaimed as he smacked the window when they took the turn too sharply.

"I sense something," he said.

Sam gaped at him. "What? Is it Gadreel?"

"I don't know what it is." The music thrummed inside his mind, calling to him. It sounded like Heaven. Castiel took several more turns purely on instinct, and then pulled the car over in front of an old, dilapidated building. He was out of the car in the next instant, not even bothering to turn off the engine.

"Cas, what…" Sam quickly cranked the keys and snatched them out of the ignition before scrambling out of the car after him. "Cas, wait!"

"Something's calling me, Sam," he said, trying to explain. "It's angelic."

Sam jogged around in front of him, pushing his palms against Castiel's chest. "Okay, well, that's a good reason not to go barreling in there. You and the other angels aren't on good terms, remember?"

Castiel slowed a fraction. That was true… He glanced between Sam's harried expression and the old building where the strange music was drawing him. And if he thought about it for a moment, he realized a mindless pull like that was definitely not a good thing to blindly follow.

Castiel gave himself a rough shake. "Of course, you're right. But we do need to investigate this. It could be Gadreel."

Sam's mouth pressed into a tight line. "Okay, but we go slow." He pulled an angel blade from his waistband. "And you don't get ahead of me, understand?"

Castiel nodded. It took a great deal of restraint, but he managed to keep equal pace with Sam as they cautiously approached a side door. Sam nudged it open and slipped in first. The music rang more loudly from within, filling not only Castiel's mind but ears as well. He glanced at Sam, whose brow had furrowed.

"Can you hear it?" Castiel asked quietly.

"I hear buzzing."

Castiel frowned. That wasn't what he heard at all; though, this song, whatever it was, was clearly designed for angels, not mortals.

He nodded toward another door. "This way."

They slowly made their way through the abandoned meat-packing plant. Empty hooks hung from chains in the ceiling, and Castiel had to duck around a few of them. He and Sam turned a corner, and pulled up short. They were in a long corridor between two sections of the plant…and there were half a dozen angels gathered. On the far wall was a sigil Castiel had never seen before, glowing with the bright bluish light of celestial energy and vibrating with that divine music.

It sizzled and dimmed to charred marks, the harmony fading to silence, and another angel stepped out in front of everyone. Gadreel.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"What do you want, traitor?" one of the angels spat.

Castiel shifted nervously next to Sam. They hadn't been seen yet, and should probably duck out of there. Except Castiel wanted to know what Gadreel was up to.

"I bring a message from Metatron," Gadreel answered calmly. "An invitation, actually. To return to Heaven, provided you pledge your loyalty and service to him."

Castiel clenched his fists. Of course. It made sense that after casting all the angels out to punish them, Metatron would then want to rule over them. He'd know how desperate they'd be to return home, even to the point they might willingly submit to him.

"And if we refuse?" a second angel called out. "I heard you slaughtered the last group you tried to persuade to join Metatron. That weasel Scribe is not worth our devotion! And you don't deserve to live." There was a quiet ring of metal as an angel blade was drawn.

"Look!" a third voice called out. "He brings the other traitor!"

Castiel went rigid as all eyes snapped his and Sam's direction. This was not good.

"Metatron surrounds himself with vermin because no one else will listen to him." More angel blades appeared.

Castiel slipped his out from his sleeve and tried to nudge Sam behind him. "Sam," he said under his breath. "Go."

The irate angel lifted his blade. "Kill them both!"

Chaos exploded as three angels charged toward Castiel and the others attacked Gadreel. Castiel swung his angel blade up to block the first blow, the force of the impact rattling down his forearm. He twisted under and away to avoid getting stabbed by a second strike from the side, but then Sam leaped in to take on that angel. The discordant screech of grating steel filled the room.

Castiel locked blades with a shorter, stout angel, leaving his side exposed to a third. Grabbing his first opponent by the wrists, Castiel swung him to the right, straight into the path of the other angel's weapon. Brown eyes flew wide before a burst of blue light exploded from within and his scream was swallowed by the blazing nova. Castiel's heart twinged with grief. No, not this. He didn't want this.

He shoved the dead vessel into the angel who'd accidentally killed it. "Stop! Please!"

The taller angel glowered with rage, heedlessly dropping his comrade on the ground and lunging forward. Castiel staggered back a step, attempting only to parry the blows and not go for the kill, but the angel was relentless. Castiel's back hit the wall, and he missed completely blocking the next hit, which cut across the underside of his forearm instead. An explosion of light and grace nearby blinded him for a split second, making it impossible to see the next strike.

But instead of feeling the sharp sting of a blade piercing his flesh, he heard the angel in front of him gasp sharply. When the light from the other dying angel receded, Castiel saw his attacker choking on a blade shoved through his throat. It was yanked out with a squelch, and the angel dropped to the concrete floor, its grace exploding the moment he hit the ground.

Sam stood there, bloody angel blade in hand, and breathing hard. He appeared unharmed, though, which Castiel felt a moment of gratitude for. They were both distracted by a scream of pain, and turned to find Gadreel fighting the last remaining angel. Both sported injuries as they spun and lunged in a fierce exchange of steel.

Sam's eyes flashed dangerously, and he pulled a flask from his jacket that Castiel knew contained holy oil. He tried to grab Sam's sleeve, but the Winchester had already darted across the room to begin pouring the oil, the two battling angels too focused on each other to notice.

Castiel's fingers cramped around the hilt of his blade. Should he step in? But to defend whom? And how far? He didn't want to kill any more of his brothers.

Sam completed the circle just as Gadreel let out a roar and plunged his blade into the other angel's chest. Light burst from the vessel's mouth and eyes before winking out, another grace extinguished. Gadreel staggered back a step, obviously weary. Sam clicked the tab of his lighter and dropped it.

The flame hit the trail of holy oil and ignited with a whoosh, spiraling around to connect in a blazing wall that shot up to trap the winded angel standing inside.

Gadreel slowly straightened, expression like steel as he glared at Sam. The Winchester's chest was heaving from exertion and barely contained fury, and possibly fear, at seeing the angel that had possessed him.

"Remember me?" Sam bit out.

Gadreel shifted his gaze to Castiel, then back to Sam. "What is it you want?"

Sam took a threatening step forward. "I want you to pay for Kevin's death."

Gadreel's jaw tightened. "I do regret the necessity of that."

"It wasn't necessary," Sam spat. "He never did anything to—he was just a kid!"

"Why did Metatron want Kevin dead?" Castiel cut in.

Gadreel glanced at him. "I did not ask."

"You spineless dick." Sam shook his head in revulsion.

"And here…" Castiel gestured to the burned sigil and dead angels. "Your mission was to woo supporters to Metatron's side, and if they refused, kill them?"

"They attacked first," Gadreel argued, vehemence coloring his voice.

Castiel regarded him carefully. Could it be Gadreel actually felt regret over what happened here today, just as Castiel did?

"Why are you serving Metatron at all?" he asked.

Gadreel lifted his chin. "Because he asked. He's the only one who has ever asked…who has ever offered me…" He trailed off with a frustrated noise. "What happened in the Garden was not my doing. Metatron sees that."

Castiel shook his head. "I know you feel misunderstood. And you're eager to redeem yourself and maybe more."

Gadreel's eyes hardened in suspicion. "You refer to my support of Metatron's campaign to rebuild Heaven?"

"Your support?" Castiel repeated dubiously. "You've recruited for him, you've killed for him. And I know you truly believe it's for the greater good, but you've placed your faith in the wrong master."

"You don't know him."

"I know him too well, Gadreel!" Castiel bit back his rising tone. "I made the same mistake, and it led to the fall."

"Which led to my second chance," Gadreel countered, a hint of desperation in his voice that Castiel recognized and understood more than he wished.

"This is about more than just you."

"Castiel, are you suggesting I change loyalties?" Gadreel asked incredulously.

"I'm suggesting you reclaim your original loyalty," he urged. "To the Heaven and mission we were made to serve."

Gadreel shook his head in apparent frustration. "I thought that was exactly what I was doing."

"You've been deceived," Castiel pressed. "And as bad as you've had it, all those centuries locked away, it will be much worse under Metatron."

Sam suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him back a few steps. "What the hell are you doing?" the hunter hissed.

Castiel cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

A muscle in Sam's cheek ticked. "Are you trying to turn him? We need to take him out!"

"He can help us find Metatron," Castiel argued.

Sam shook his head. "No, we are not trusting him. He killed Kevin!"

"Metatron ordered it. And if we don't find him, we'll never be able to re-open Heaven." Castiel pulled out of Sam's grip and returned to the edge of the ring of holy fire. Meeting Gadreel's eyes for a prolonged moment, he then waved his hand and extinguished the flames.

Gadreel eyed him guardedly. "I have not promised you anything, Castiel."

"I know. But I believe you truly want to do the right thing." Castiel gave him a wan smile. "Heaven needs more angels like that."

Gadreel said nothing. He glanced at Sam, and then began backing out of the room. Castiel watched him go, not making a move until Gadreel had disappeared.

"So," Sam said, tone scathingly bitter. "All that effort, all that agony of extracting Gadreel's grace, was for nothing?"

Castiel turned to face him. "It wasn't for nothing, Sam. I have hope Gadreel will change his mind and help us. I don't think he's truly evil; he's just being misled by Metatron." The Scribe was good at doing that.

Sam snorted in disgust. "Well, that's just great. You want to team up with Kevin's murderer, the angel that made me kill him! Was this your plan ever since you found that tracking spell? And you didn't bother to tell me because you knew I wouldn't go for it?"

"First of all, Sam, you did not kill Kevin," Castiel responded sharply. "And I wasn't keeping my intentions from you. Until I spoke with him, I wasn't even sure about Gadreel's motivations…but, I think I'm beginning to understand him."

"He doesn't deserve our understanding."

"You were led astray by Ruby," Castiel said abruptly. "Did bad things in order to do what you thought was good—killing Lilith. And Lucifer was freed because of it."

Sam recoiled as though visibly struck, and Castiel instantly regretted his tone. He hadn't meant it to be a personal barb against the young Winchester.

"Doesn't Gadreel deserve the same chance to right his wrongs?" he went on.

Sam just stared at him, still looking betrayed. "I thought you hated Gadreel for what happened in the Garden of Eden."

Castiel nodded slowly. "Yes. But then, I've made mistakes too." Horrible, Heaven-shattering mistakes. If Gadreel could not earn redemption for his single error, how could Castiel ever hope to atone for his multitude of sins?

Shaking his head, Sam pushed past him and started toward the exit. "I hope this isn't one of them."

Castiel's shoulders sagged. So did he.

Chapter Text

Sam stared out the passenger window at a vista hidden by nightfall, nothing to distract him from his roiling thoughts. He was fuming. After how hard they'd worked to find Gadreel, Cas had just let the murderous angel go. And for what? A naive belief that maybe Gadreel would turn on Metatron and help them? Yeah, right. The angel was probably back out there, killing more angels. Though, at this point, Sam didn't care if that was the case. He was sick of angels, and they could all go kill each other, save everyone some grief.

Sam reached up to run a hand down his face. He didn't mean that. Well, the angels killing angels part, maybe, but the fact was this war on earth was being played out in human vessels, and that was a problem. Those people had been tricked into consenting, just like Sam had. They had no idea what they were really signing up for. No, the angels needed to go back to Heaven, and, dammit, that meant finding Metatron.

But Gadreel should not have been an option. Sam didn't want to think about the points Cas had made about Gadreel wanting redemption. He didn't want to empathize with the angel. Yet, he had said it himself—Gadreel seemed to have felt misunderstood.

That still didn't mean it was a good plan to trust him.

Sam shifted in his seat. He just couldn't get comfortable, even though he actually had more leg room in this beast of a car. Normally on night drives like this, Sam could fall asleep to the lull of the engine. But the crappy Continental Mark V had a chugging cough in its cylinders that was not conducive to dozing off.

Or maybe it was just that it wasn't the Impala.

Sam didn't want to think about Dean, either.

"Sam," Cas spoke up.

He tensed, ready to tell the angel to drop it, whatever well-meaning conversation it was he wanted to have.

"Isn't there supposed to be a city here?"

Sam blinked. What? He turned to gaze out the windshield at the sweeping darkness spread before them. He hadn't been paying close enough attention to know where they were; though, he supposed Cas would know, having an angel's internal sense of direction.

The road was pitch black as they coasted down it, the car's headlights bobbing across asphalt and reeds on the side of the road. As they rounded a curve, the headlights briefly illuminated a dark gas station, and then a mini mart. Up ahead was a house with candles in the windowsill.

"Looks like a power outage," Sam said.

Cas eased up on the gas, slowing the Continental with a half-lurch. Sam rolled his eyes, though he had to admit it was the safe decision. Then the engine suddenly sputtered and coughed, and the car jerked as its fuel was abruptly cut. Cas hit the brakes and guided the vehicle onto the shoulder. Even the headlights flickered and shut off.

"Strange," he muttered. "She's not out of gas." Cas tried turning the key in the ignition again, but nothing happened.

Sam bit back a sigh. Just great. They were still a couple of hours from the bunker. He craned his neck to look out the rear window, trying to gauge how far back the gas station was. Except, the power was out, so they couldn't exactly call for a tow truck.

When he turned back around, Sam jumped at the figure suddenly standing right in front of the car's hood. Cas whipped his head up. The young man had blood painting one whole side of his face, and his mouth moved slowly, forming silent words. "Help me."

Before Sam could open his door, the specter flickered and disappeared. The Continental's headlights came back on, illuminating a cross on the side of the road with fresh flowers set around it.

Cas made a thoughtful noise and turned the key in the ignition. The engine started up without a problem. He then leaned back in his seat, brow furrowed in deep thought.

Sam hated to say it, because he really just wanted to go home and maybe drink a few liquor bottles, but if there was a ghost hanging around shutting down unsuspecting motorists, they should probably do something about it.

"Try to find a place with power," he said wearily. "Coffee shop or motel, somewhere with WiFi. That memorial site looks recent, so it shouldn't be too hard to identify the victim and find his remains to burn."

Cas angled a contemplative look his way, which Sam ignored. Without a word, he put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. Power started coming back on in sections of the city, lighting up parts of the grid while others remained dark, but they still fluctuated. Maybe that ghost was situated close to the power plant or something.

They found a coffee shop with the lights on, though the place was obviously closed after having been out of power for a while. But at least the router was on, and Sam was able to piggyback the free WiFi from his laptop. He pulled up local news sites on his browser and started searching for accident victims on the road they'd broken down on.

"Okay, Charles Harris, died January 14th." Sam frowned. "Huh, says he fell asleep at the wheel and went off the road into a telephone pole." That was…odd. Ghosts usually stuck around after violent deaths. Not that this wasn't tragic, but it didn't seem like there was a reason for Harris's ghost to be hanging around targeting other drivers. Unless, maybe he was shutting down cars to prevent further accidents?

Sam pushed his speculations aside and scrolled further down the article. "What the…crap, it says he was already cremated." That would make this case a lot more difficult. They'd have to track down the widow and try to find whatever personal object Harris was linked to.

Cas was roving his gaze out the window at the surrounding city. "I think there's something more going on here."

Sam quirked a puzzled brow. "What do you mean?"

"There's a disturbance in the electromagnetic field," he explained. "On quite a large scale."

"Okay, and…?"

Cas shook his head. "I'm sensing ghosts. Lots of ghosts. They're fading in and out, but there's definitely a large concentration of them."

Frown deepening, Sam revised his search to the power outage. "Get this, the city's power grid has been fluctuating for the past week." He clicked on a side story showcasing interviews with the public. "Um, it seems several people have reported ghost sightings all over the city." He glanced at Cas. "What would make a bunch of ghosts suddenly active like that?"

"I'm not sure. Does the article say whether there's a central location for the phenomena?"

Sam scrolled down a bit. "Well, maybe the county hospital. Makes sense, I guess, given how many people die there."

"Do you want to check it out?" Cas asked.

Sam shrugged. He was tired, and it was late, but distracting himself with a case, with doing something good, was probably the best way to take his mind off everything else. "Yeah."

Cas put the car in gear and veered onto the road again. When they reached the hospital, Sam realized he didn't have too many of his fake IDs on him to choose from.

"You still have your FBI badge from Wyoming?" he asked Cas.

The angel looked regretful. "No." Cas got out of the car and roughly shut the door.

Sam quickly followed. "What happened to it? You know you have to be more careful about losing that stuff. If the real FBI found it, they'd end up on your trail."

"The real FBI doesn't have it," Cas responded tightly. "It was cut up when Malachi's faction captured and tortured me."

Sam pulled up short. "Wait, when what? When did that happen?"

Cas blinked, and then looked away. "In Wyoming. After you and Dean…um, it was only a matter of time, anyway. How would you like to play this? Good cop, bad cop? Or, I suppose if we don't have badges…"

Sam stormed over and grabbed Cas's arm, forcing the angel to meet his eyes again. "In Wyoming, on that case with the angel factions killing each other? But Dean said you…" He closed his eyes as realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. "Dean sent you away again. He freakin' left you there, in the middle of a war zone."

"It was my fault I was captured," Cas protested. "And it doesn't matter anymore. We should focus on the case."

Sam's jaw tightened, and he let Cas go as the angel turned to head toward the hospital entrance. He couldn't believe everything his brother had done in the past few months, and every time Sam learned yet another piece of it, it made him furious all over again. Kevin had been killed by Gadreel. But Cas could have been killed simply due to Dean's stupid negligence. And for what? To protect Sam? Always it was in the name to 'protect Sammy', but Sam didn't want his protection. Not at those costs.

Shaking off his rapidly growing anger, Sam pulled out his FBI creds and jogged to catch up with Cas. He would have preferred to use the cover of Health Inspector, but options were limited. Since it was late, though, they'd only have to convince the night guards to let them into restricted areas, and those guys were usually easier to manipulate than the higher up administrative staff who worked during the day.

He and Cas walked into the hospital and went to the guard station.

"FBI," Sam said by way of introduction, showing his badge to the single nightwatchman. The guy didn't look surprised.

"Oh, are you here to do the security check?"

"Security check?" Sam repeated before catching himself. "Uh, yeah." Sounded like a good cover, unless there was a regularly planned one in place and the real FBI was wandering around…

"Your partner's already in the ER," the guard said. "Checking for vulnerabilities to bioterrorism or something."

Sam arched a brow. That sounded…like the kind of BS a hunter might use. Maybe these ghost sightings had caught the attention of someone else.

"Okay, thanks. We'll let you know if we need anything."

The guard shrugged one shoulder disinterestedly. "ER's down the hall that way."

Sam gave one last nod and headed that direction, Cas following behind.

"Do you think someone else is investigating the ghost sightings?" the angel said in a hushed voice.

"We'll see."

They came to the doors leading to the Emergency Room, which was relatively quiet save for a few people in the waiting room. Sam flashed his badge at a nurse, who gave him an annoyed look before pointing him and Cas down the hall. It looked like the back of the ER had been cordoned off by the 'FBI' inspector. Sam moved to a triage room with its door closed, and could hear the beeping of an EMF reader inside. Yep, definitely a fellow hunter. Curious, Sam pushed the door open and strode inside, only to pull up short in stunned disbelief.

Dean whirled around, EMF reader in hand. For a moment, the three of them gaped at each other, only the erratic screeching of the EMF device breaking the silence.

Cas finally cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey," Dean replied. "Uh, what are you guys doing here?"

"Same thing you are," Sam said, tone somewhat abrasive. He glanced pointedly at the reader. "Guess this place has a ghost problem."

Something flashed in Dean's eyes, but it was gone the next instant. Sam didn't bother dwelling on it.

"Yeah," Dean said awkwardly. "Not just the hospital, though. This thing's been going off since I entered the city limits."

"We saw a ghost on the road," Cas informed him. "It managed to disrupt the car's engine."

"It attack you?" Dean asked.

Sam couldn't help but snort at the concern in his voice. "No. Looked more like he was asking for help."

"So what's got the juice to mess with ghosts?" Dean asked Cas, brushing off Sam's harsh demeanor. "Witches? Demons?"

"I don't know." Cas's brow furrowed. "Perhaps we should ask." He pointed to the space behind Dean where an apparition was flickering into sight.

Dean scrambled back a step, one hand going to his waistband, though he didn't seem to have any iron on him. Neither did Sam, unfortunately.

The middle-aged woman with charred hair and skin looked at them with watery eyes. "Hello? C-can you see me?"

"Yes," Cas replied, then paused for a beat. "You do understand you're dead?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Nice bedside manner, Cas."

Sam glowered at him; Dean was one to talk.

The woman sniffled, her voice echoing with static. "Yes. I…there was a fire in my apartment. I remember being brought here, but…" Her gaze flitted around the triage room, now clean and pristine, with no trace of the battle for her life that had likely taken place in it.

"Why are you still here?" Sam asked gently. "Didn't a reaper come for you?"

She shook her head. "We're all trapped in the Veil." She glanced over her shoulder nervously. "It's getting crowded in here."

"Why?" Dean asked.

The woman shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I've been able to talk to others who have died here. No one's been leaving, at least not for Heaven, not for several months now."

"Not since the angels fell," Cas said in realization. "Because Heaven is closed."

"Please," the woman said. "It's so dark here sometimes, and some of the others, they're…" Her image distorted, cutting off her voice. In the next instant she was gone, and the EMF reader went quiet.

"So Heaven's closed for business, which means all the souls are staying stuck in the Veil," Dean said. "Awesome."

"And because of the over-crowdedness, the energy is magnifying and the Veil is beginning to tear," Cas added. "That's why there are increased ghost sightings and interference."

"What happens if it continues?" Sam asked. "Are you saying the Veil could tear completely, and all the spirits would be loose on the world?"

Cas's mouth pressed into a tight line. "Perhaps."

Dean let out a small growl in the back of his throat. "Okay, then we need to fix this, before that happens."

Cas shook his head in frustration. "We're nowhere near close enough to finding Metatron and reversing his spell to open Heaven."

Sam didn't bother bringing up the hunt for Gadreel and how they'd let him go. It had no bearing on things now, and Dean had made it clear he hadn't wanted to be part of the team. Except, now it seemed like they did, in fact, need to work together on this.

"Well, should we be talking to reapers?" Dean pressed. "Maybe they have some ideas."

Sam straightened as an epiphany struck. "Not reapers," he said. "Their boss."

Dean's brows shot upward. "Death? You want to talk to Death?"

"Reaping souls is his business," Sam argued.

"He's probably locked out of Heaven like the rest of 'em."

Sam slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. Think about it. Only Death was able to go into the Cage to get my soul back. And…" His throat suddenly tightened. "When I was dying after the Trials, Death came to personally take my soul. He was taking me to Heaven, too, and that was after the angels were cast out. So he can obviously get in, regardless of Metatron's lock on the gates."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. "This really about the ghosts, or you wanting a second go at Death without my interference?"

"Would you get over yourself?" Sam snapped. "There's a real problem here. So you can either get your head out of your ass and help us fix it, or run away like you did before. I don't care."

He spun on his heel and stormed past Cas, who opened his mouth as though to say something, but Sam ignored him. It was only a few moments before two sets of footsteps caught up to him.

"Guess we're summoning Death," Dean muttered on his heels.

Sam finally had a moment of clarity to feel a spike of fear. Yeah…they were gonna summon Death.

Chapter Text

Dean suggested a restaurant as the place for summoning Death. Sam made a grudging noise of acceptance before heading to Cas's pimpmobile and sliding in the front passenger seat.

Cas gave Dean a half-guilty shrug. "We'll just…follow you."

"Yeah, sure." Dean spun on his heel and stalked off toward where he'd parked the Impala. He wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling at the knowledge Sam and Cas had been driving around the mid-west working cases together. Was it jealousy? It'd always been Dean and Sam, Sam and Dean. And Baby. Now his brother had snubbed the Impala as much as Dean, and he couldn't help feeling a little hurt over it.

But at least Cas was looking after Sam. That was a good thing. Dean just…kinda missed them.

They drove a few blocks until they found a Mexican restaurant closed for the night. After parking in back, Dean got the summoning supplies from the trunk while Sam had gone ahead to pick the lock on the back door. The three of them made their way inside where Dean deposited his duffel bag on one of the tables.

"Fire up the stove," he told Sam.

"What? Dean, we have work to do."

He fought to hold back a scowl. "I've met with Death a few times. Trust me, we're gonna want food set out."

Sam continued giving him a blank look, so Dean headed to the kitchen and started perusing the refrigerator and shelves for what the restaurant had in stock. He should probably make a selection for Death to choose from.

Pots and pans clattered on the stove as Dean set them out and put a splash of oil in each. While those were warming up, he started spreading tomatoes, avocados, cheese, and seasonings on the counter.

The serving door swung open as Cas entered, the angel shuffling slightly in discomfort. "Can I help?" he finally asked.

"You can chop an onion." Dean rolled said vegetable across the counter toward Cas, who moved forward to catch it. When Cas reached for his angel blade, Dean just shook his head and passed him a kitchen knife.

"Sam's preparing the summoning spell," Cas said, voice hesitant as though he were trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Good," Dean replied. "Uh, how's he doing?"

"Sam is fine. His healing is complete."

Dean felt a wave of relief. He hadn't actually known Sam was still in rough shape after Gadreel had been exorcised, though it didn't come as a surprise. Again, Dean owed Cas for looking out for his brother.

He cleared his throat. "He's still mad at me."

Cas was silent for a beat, nothing but the sounds of a knife chopping and the sizzle from the pans filling the kitchen. "He's angry at a lot of people. And he feels guilty."

"I told him what happened to Kevin is on me," Dean half-growled. But of course Sam wouldn't listen.

"Neither of you killed the prophet," Cas said. "But you both blame yourselves." He glanced up with a pointed look, which Dean turned away from. "However," Cas continued. "I understand the feeling."

Dean didn't quite know what to make of that, but he left it alone in favor of finishing up the cooking. The sooner they got that done, the sooner they could summon Death and figure out what the hell was up with the Veil.

Cas wasn't very useful outside of chopping vegetables, so went out to help Sam finish up the summoning spell while Dean put the finishing touches on the dishes. Once ready, he carried the tray out and set it on the bar counter. Sam had painted the summoning symbol on one of the tables already, and the ingredients for the spell were mixed in a bowl set in the center of the rune. Now he was busy lighting candles placed around the edge of the symbol.

Dean joined him, scooping up the knife. "I got this part."

Sam just rolled his eyes, which, really?

Shoving aside his own mounting frustration, Dean slit the knife across his palm and dripped the blood into the bowl. "Te nunc invoco, mortem. Te in mea potestate defixi," he recited in Latin.

A rumble sounded from far off, and a few lights in the back started popping. Sam shifted nervously, while Cas took a small step closer to them.

"Nunc et in aeternum," Dean finished. The rumbling stopped, and he quickly wrapped his bleeding hand in a bandana while looking around expectantly.

"Don't tell me that's queso," a familiar voice spoke from behind.

The three of them whirled around to find Death standing in the restaurant, shrewd eyes skewering them.

"Yeah—yes," Dean stammered. He hurried to the bar counter and picked up the tray. "Queso and, uh, taquitos, tamales." He nervously brought the tray over. Dean may have had a few sit-downs with Death in the past, but he wasn't stupid enough to call themselves old pals.

"Homemade by yours truly," Dean continued to ramble. "All with the bad fat. Consider it an offering."

Death leaned forward to sniff the food. "For?" he asked, flicking his gaze back to Sam and Cas. Dean did not like the knowing look Death gave his brother.

Sam cleared his throat. "We, uh, need your help."

"I see. You know, I find it truly fascinating…" Death picked up a taquito and took a bite. "Mmm, that's good." He set the food item back on the tray and started walking to the other side of the room. "Is that you and I both know that I've been burned by you Winchesters before, yet you still call."

Dean swallowed his trepidation. "Yeah, I know, but not this time, okay? Besides, the reason we're calling has to do with your business."

Death arched a brow. "How so?"

"With Heaven closed, all the souls of people who die are getting stuck in the Veil," Sam put in. "And it's starting to tear."

"Yeah," Dean added, setting the tray down. "Ain't that your job to take care of?"

Sam shot him a bitch-face, and Dean quickly gave Death a contrite look.

"I mean, you're not locked out of Heaven, right?"

Death tutted as he strolled around the tables. "I can't ferry all the souls that die every minute of every day. There are just too many."

"But you can get into Heaven?" Sam asked.

Death shrugged mildly. "Yes. But as I said, there are too many souls. That's why I have reapers, and unfortunately, they are locked out."

Dean crossed his arms. "Okay, well, then can you just slip into Heaven and kill Metatron?"

Death leveled a condescending look his way. "Killing the Scribe will not reopen the gates of Heaven."

"Of course not," Dean muttered. "Well then what can we do? Because the Veil breaking down and spilling over into the human world is not a good thing. And we have enough problems with angels running around."

Death turned his sharpened gaze to Cas then, who'd been silent throughout this whole exchange. It belatedly occurred to Dean that the last time Cas had faced Death, it'd been when the Winchesters and Bobby had bound the guy in order to kill a hopped-up-on-souls Godstiel. Not good memories.

"I told you once before, Dean," Death intoned. "It's all about the souls."

Cas fidgeted under Death's unwavering gaze.

"Yeah, they're powerful and that's why the Veil is breaking," Dean retorted, taking a slight sidestep toward Cas. That business with the Purgatory souls had been a long time ago, and Dean really hoped Death wasn't holding some kind of grudge against Cas. Besides, Cas had been the one to unbind Death from the Winchesters. Of course, Death had still threatened him. Dean kinda wished now that he hadn't brought Cas along.

Death hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, very powerful." He finally broke his staring contest with Cas. "And I do happen to know that an angel's soul is a necessary component to unlocking Heaven."

Dean frowned, shooting his brother a confused look.

"Crowley translated that part of the Angel Tablet," Sam replied. "He said the spell was irreversible."

Death shrugged. "I don't know the details, but I assure you, an angel's soul is the key."

Dean shook his head. "Okay, well, great. So we just need an angel's grace. I vote for Metatron's."

"I said soul, not grace," Death pointed out sternly. "Pay attention."

"Then it is impossible," Cas finally spoke up. "Angels do not have souls."

Death lolled his sapient gaze back to Cas, expression knowing. "That is…mostly true. There is, however, one angel in all of Creation who possesses a soul." He began stalking toward Cas purposefully.

Cas looked anxious, but held his ground and lifted his chin stoutly. "My time as a human would not have given me a soul."

Death came to a stop mere inches from Cas. Dean and Sam exchanged wary glances.

"No," Death said. "The soul was yours from the beginning."

He raised a hand and stretched it out toward Cas's chest. Cas's throat bobbed, yet he didn't move. Neither did Dean, though his heart rate was spiking. What the hell was Death doing?

"God had been experimenting," Death continued, his palm hovering over Cas's sternum. "Creating something unique, not a human soul, nor strictly an angel's essence. A single, special, soul." Death lifted his brows. "It must be why God keeps bringing you back."

Cas was nearly shaking now. "N-no. That can't…"

Death finally stepped away. "You have the information you need to resolve the issue with the souls in the Veil and Heaven." He angled a pointed look straight at Dean. "Let's see if you can be smart in how you act on it."

And with that, he vanished, along with the tray of freshly cooked food. The air pressure in the room dropped drastically, and Dean hadn't realized his chest had felt as though it was being compressed. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, um…" That was enlightening. But what exactly were they supposed to do with that information?

Sam let out a disgusted noise. "I can't believe Crowley lied. I mean, I can believe it, except we'd had a deal!"

"I wouldn't be so quick to trust what Death said," Cas interjected, sounding rattled.

Dean didn't know what the big deal was. So, sure, Cas apparently had a soul, which no other angels did. Wasn't that actually kinda cool? And flattering maybe?

Dean pulled out his cell phone. "I'll double check with Crowley."

Sam's brows shot upward. "Since when are you buddy-buddy with the King of Hell?"

"Uh…" Dean rolled his shoulder awkwardly. "We did some hunting together. For the First Blade, a weapon that's supposed to kill Abaddon. And for Cain, the last guy who had it."

"What?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he scrolled through his recent calls list for '666.' "We didn't get anywhere." The line started ringing, and he held the phone up to his ear.

"Squirrel!" Crowley answered, sounding unnaturally chipper.

Dean frowned. "Are you drunk?"

"No! Though…if I was, wh-what's it to you?" he slurred.

Dean scowled. "Just focus for a second. When you translated the Angel Tablet for Sam, you told him the spell that cast the angels out of Heaven was irreversible."

He waited, but heard nothing except what sounded like Crowley blowing air bubbles with his lips.

"Crowley! What did the Tablet actually say? Did it say the reversal spell needed an angel's soul?"

"You pick up Elamite recently?" Crowley rejoined.

Dean clenched a fist. "Dammit, Crowley, answer the question!"

"Alright, alright. Hum…angel soul…yes, I believe that's what it said."

Oh, Dean was going to throttle him, temporary ally or not. "Then why'd you tell Sam it was irreversible?"

Crowley snorted. "Because angels don't have souls, you dimwit. Ergo, it's irreversible. Now call me when you get a lead on Cain."

Dean sputtered. "What? That's your—"

The line clicked. Dean jerked his phone away and stared at the blinking screen, signaling Crowley had hung up.

"Jackass," he muttered, and shoved the cell back into his pocket. He looked up to find Sam and Cas watching him. "Well," Dean said with a shrug. "Crowley doesn't think he lied, since he didn't think angels had souls anyway."

Sam just shook his head, whereas Cas looked a little green around the edges.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Dean asked.

Cas blinked slowly as though shellshocked. "If what Death said is true…then Naomi was right. I was made wrong."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Not wrong, Cas," Sam put in, using his gentle tone most often reserved for traumatized victims. "Just different."

Cas let out a soft snort. "Then why didn't God make more angels like me? No, Sam, more likely he realized I was a mistake. An aberration."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Come on, man, you don't believe that. And you heard Death: why then would the Big Man keep bringing you back?"

"As punishment, remember?"

"Wait, what?" Sam glanced between them questioningly.

Dean shook his head, not having time to explain that backstory to his brother. "Look, Cas, all that shit is in the past. You need to let it go." They had other problems now.

Cas's jaw was tight as he looked away, but then he seemed to compose himself. "We need to find out the rest of what the Tablet said."

"Yeah, but Gadreel took everything," Dean pointed out. "The Tablet and all of Kevin's notes."

Cas flicked a look at Sam. "I suppose it's time we see if I made a mistake. I'll contact Gadreel, see if he's willing to help us."

Now it was Dean's turn to glance between his brother and friend, lost. He shot up a hand. "Hold up, you have a way to contact Gadreel? And what the hell makes you think that dickbag is gonna help?"

Sam was now looking at the floor, while Cas steeled himself to meet Dean's gaze.

"We've already tracked Gadreel down and…had a conversation. I believe his help will be vital to taking down Metatron."

Dean's eyes widened. "Let me get this straight. You two hunted down the bastard that killed Kevin…and had a chat?" He threw a sharp look at Sam. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"It was my call," Cas interjected.

"Oh, it was your—"

"You weren't there," Sam suddenly snapped. He took a breath, and fixed Dean with a harsh glare. "And given what we know now, I agree with Cas; Gadreel might be our only way to get Kevin's notes back."

Dean gaped at him incredulously. They were gonna turn to that lying piece of shit that killed Kevin and kidnapped Sam? Hadn't they learned their lesson from Dean's mistake?

Sam turned to Cas. "I should go with you," he said quietly, as though Dean wasn't standing right there.

Cas flicked an uncertain look at him, and Dean turned away in a feigned attempt to give them privacy, though he could still hear them.

"It's alright, Sam. I think you and Dean should try to work things out."

Sam huffed in frustration. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will." Cas nodded to Dean, and then turned to exit out the back.

"Guess the band's back together," Dean said after Cas had gone. Sam did not appear amused.

"What did Cas mean by the punishment thing?"

Dean bit back a sigh. "Oh, just some crazy shit he said back when he didn't have all his marbles." Dean twirled a finger at the side of his head. "He thought each time he was brought back after dying was worse than the last, and so a punishment or something."

Sam frowned.

"Which I think is bull," he added. When his brother didn't respond, Dean cleared his throat. "Look, Sam," he said softly. "I know you're still pissed. But I saved your hide at that church…and the hospital. I may not think things all the way through. Okay? But what I do, I do because it's the right thing. I'd do it again."

Sam shook his head almost sadly. "And that…is the problem. You think you're my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in, and even when you mess up, you think what you're doing is worth it because you've convinced yourself you're doing more good than bad… But you're not."

Dean stared at him blankly. Okay, yeah, there had been some pretty bad consequences, but Sam was alive. Couldn't his brother see that?

"I mean, Kevin's dead," Sam continued, voice growing more vehement. "Cas got captured and tortured by angels because you refused to let him stay with us. And all we have at beating this angel thing is a long shot. So, please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?"

Dean's jaw went slack. "You kidding me? You and me—fighting the good fight together."

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, and looked ready to storm out, but then he whirled sharply toward Dean, making him draw back subconsciously.

"Okay. Just once, be honest with me. You didn't save me for me. You did it for you."

Dean shot him a confused look. "What are you talkin' about?"

"I was ready to die," Sam insisted. "I was ready. I should have died, but you…you didn't want to be alone. And that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone."

Dean blinked at him in bewilderment, and swallowed hard. "Alright."

Sam snorted. "I'll give you this much. You are certainly willing to do the sacrificing as long as you're not the one being hurt."

Dean bristled. "Alright, you want to be honest? If the situation were reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."

Sam looked away, and his response was so soft that Dean almost didn't hear it. "No, Dean, I wouldn't."

Dean felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

Sam looked up to meet his eyes. "Same circumstances…I wouldn't." He turned on his heel and headed for the door. "I'll meet you at the car."

Dean stared after him, too shocked to follow. He'd screwed up, Dean knew that. But for Sam to…for him to turn his back like that, after everything…

Well, hadn't Sam done the same thing when Dean had been stuck in Purgatory? Maybe it was true, maybe Dean didn't want to be alone. But no matter how hard he tried, Sam was always leaving. First with Stanford, then other times along the road. What exactly was Dean holding onto?

Shoving the supplies for the spell back into the duffel bag, Dean shuffled after his brother. He had half a mind to look up Crowley again and resume the search for Cain. Sam obviously didn't want him around.

But Dean couldn't leave his brother stranded now that Cas had gone off on a mission. Looked like it would be a long drive back to the bunker.

Chapter Text

Castiel paced the length between two sycamores in an isolated section of woods. He'd sent a message through angel radio on a private channel, asking Gadreel to meet him there. Castiel hadn't received a response, and so had no idea whether the other angel would show or not. But he would wait and hope, because without Gadreel's help, they had no way of finding out how to reverse the spell that cast the angels out.

Although, if Death was to be believed, they needed an angel's soul…his soul, because he was the only angel in all of Creation who possessed one. Castiel was still struggling to come to terms with that revelation. He supposed it made sense, though, why he'd always been so…different. Why Naomi had repeatedly tried to fix him—and failed. Why he felt such a draw toward humanity…to the Winchesters. Castiel was closer to human than angel, just as some of his brethren had accused him of in the past.

Had they known? Naomi had claimed that Castiel had come off the line wrong, and perhaps she had been trying to fix God's mistake. And what about Metatron? He had written the Tablet that mentioned an angel who possessed a soul. Would the Scribe have questioned God about it? Would God have explained himself? Or…would he have kept it a secret, embarrassed by the failure of his creation? Was that why…why God never answered Castiel's prayers?

But then why would God keep bringing him back? Why should Castiel constantly be punished if God was the one who made him wrong in the first place? Or…perhaps his father did not want to admit his failure, and he kept giving Castiel chances to prove that God hadn't made a mistake.

But Castiel kept failing, time and time again.

Well, not this time. If he was, in fact, the key to reopening Heaven, then Castiel would stop at nothing to see it done.

He finally ceased his agitated pacing, mustering the wherewithal to center himself. Now was not the time for pity sessions and wallowing; now was the time to strategize and prepare.

A twig snapped, and Castiel looked up as Gadreel approached. The other angel glanced around the woods, but they were alone.

"Thank you for coming," Castiel said.

Gadreel drew to a stop, leaving eight feet between them. "I've seen you through Sam Winchester's eyes, and he trusts you. You have a reputation for honor."

Castiel almost snorted; he'd like to know who thought that. "What about Metatron's reputation? Surely you've never heard the word 'honorable' applied to him."

Gadreel let out a frustrated noise, shaking his head. "Is this what you called me here to speak about? I have told you my position and reasons for it."

"What if there was another way to return the angels to Heaven? Without groveling at Metatron's feet? And if you help me, you will gain the favor of every angel we save."

Gadreel frowned. "I was in Sam Winchester when the demon translated the Tablet. There is no way to reverse the spell that cast us out. Only Metatron can grant entrance now."

Castiel shook his head fervently. "There is a way to reverse the spell, and I already have the key ingredient. But I need the Tablet and the prophet's notes for the rest of the ritual."

The other angel scoffed.

"Gadreel, please," Castiel nearly begged. "I know you seek redemption. So do I. In fact, that is exactly what I was doing when I helped Metatron gather the ingredients for the spell that I thought would close Heaven, keep the angels there so we could work things out. But instead it caused the Fall. Metatron betrayed us all, and will again. Help me stop him."

Gadreel's jaw ticked as he continued to shake his head in denial. Then he straightened sharply. "Castiel!"

Castiel twisted to find an angel barreling out from behind a tree, angel blade in hand. He got his weapon out in time to block the attack, colliding metal clanging through the woods. The other angel delivered a punch to Castiel's face, which sent him reeling back a step. Just as he regained his balance, another blade appeared at his throat. Castiel froze.

There were sounds of a scuffle followed by a grunt, and then Gadreel was hauled forward, arms wrenched behind his back by two other angels who also held a blade to his neck.

The first who led the attack stepped forward, leering triumphantly. "Our boss has been looking for you."

Castiel gave a half-hearted struggle before a hood was thrown over his head, and he was unceremoniously dragged away.

Castiel wasn't sure how far they traveled in the back of the van, or where exactly they'd stopped when the vehicle finally parked and he was yanked outside. He felt the puff of air conditioning as they entered a set of doors, and then he was led down a corridor. Castiel expected perhaps Malachi's dungeon again, but when the hood was finally removed, he found himself standing in a professional looking waiting room, with two white sofas facing each other off to the left. The other side of the room had a Turkish rug spread across the floor and a glass coffee table pushed against that wall. Castiel looked around in bewilderment. He glanced at his captors questioningly, but they merely went to stand at attention next to a window on the left. There was no sign of Gadreel.

The doors swung open then, and Castiel stiffened as a familiar angel strode in. He wore a business suit now, though the last time Castiel had seen him had been in Heaven, and he hadn't taken a vessel at that time.

Castiel regarded him warily. Many things had changed since they last spoke. "Hello, Bartholomew."

The other angel regarded him cooly for a moment, and then broke into a wide grin. "Castiel." Bartholomew stepped forward and embraced him in a fierce hug.

Castiel returned it, though the action put him on edge; he had no idea what to expect here.

Bartholomew pulled back, clapping Castiel's shoulder. "It has been too long." He gestured for him to sit.

Castiel sank cautiously onto one sofa while Bartholomew sat across from him.

"Castiel," he repeated, still smiling. "What have you been up to all this time? You practically disappeared from the face of Heaven and earth."

"Uh…" Castiel tried not to fidget under this unexpected turn of events. "You could say that. I was…lost, for a time. And then in Purgatory for a year."

Bartholomew's brows rose. "I'd heard rumors about that."

"And I've heard rumors about you." Castiel flicked his gaze around the office. "You seem to have been…busy."

"We've done what we've had to in order to survive since the Fall," Bartholomew replied. "We started with human allies, but after realizing they were more trouble than they were worth, we purged them, then commandeered Boyle Ministries, Inc. for our own use."

"Buddy Boyle," Castiel said in realization, remembering how the Rit Zien's vessel in Rexford had been encouraged to say yes to becoming an angel's vessel by listening to the preacher on the radio. "So, you killed him."

Bartholomew gave him a simpering smirk. "No. We made him and his colleagues vessels. At least those who didn't go 'pop.'"

Castiel frowned. He and Bartholomew had fought together against Raphael, but the angel had never really shown much regard for humanity. Or life. Castiel had left captives in Bartholomew's care once, and the angel had ended up torturing and killing them.

"You nervous, Castiel?" Bartholomew asked with a trace of smugness.

Castiel glanced at the two guards who stood near the window, glaring daggers at him. "Your followers want me dead." He looked back at Bartholomew. "I'm not entirely certain you don't, too."

Bartholomew smiled again, but it seemed predatory. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Somehow, that did not come across reassuring.

"So, we're friends here?"

"Yes."

Castiel shifted on the sofa. "And I'm free to go?"

Bartholomew rolled his eyes. "Of course. Though, I don't know why you would. What's out there for you, Castiel? What do you really expect to accomplish on your own? You'll never find Metatron that way."

He straightened. "How'd you know about Metatron?"

"I figured that's why you were pursuing Gadreel. We have different methods, Cas, but we want the same thing—to find Metatron and restore our kind to Heaven."

Castiel swallowed. He didn't trust Bartholomew enough to share that he had a plan for restoring the angels to Heaven, but he had to give the militant leader something. "I need Gadreel for that."

Bartholomew's face cracked into another wide grin. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

He nodded to the two guards, who moved away from the window toward a side door. They filed into the other room, only to return a moment later with Gadreel, bound and gagged. Castiel surged to his feet as the angels dragged a slightly beaten Gadreel across the floor and dumped him on the rug.

Bartholomew stood and moved around Castiel. Kneeling by Gadreel, he produced an angel blade and set it against the captive angel's throat.

Castiel's pulse spiked. "Bart, what are you doing?"

"What needs to be done." Bartholomew grabbed a fistful of Gadreel's hair and yanked his head back. "I'm gonna torture the rebel, find out what he knows, then kill him. And you're going to help."

Gadreel's expression was a mixture of defiance and fear, and perhaps a glimmer of resignation.

"Bartholomew, it doesn't need to be like this," Castiel argued.

The militant angel scowled. "Castiel, get your head out of the sand. If you can set aside your qualms about methods for one second, there's no reason the two of us can't take Metatron down. Together."

Castiel gritted his teeth, wracking his brain for a way out of this. He tried to meet Gadreel's gaze, tried to promise he would do his best to save the angel. Gadreel's eyes were miles away on an ocean of remembered pain and torment, though, fighting the haunting memories.

"You know what the other angels in our army used to think of you?" Bartholomew said, rising to his feet and stepping into Castiel's personal space. "That you didn't have it in you. That you couldn't do what needed to be done. But I know different. I know you've changed." He shoved the angel blade into Castiel's hands.

Castiel's knuckles whitened around the hilt. "I'm not a murderer."

"You weren't," Bartholomew seethed in his face. "Not then. But since then, you've slaughtered thousands of angels. You killed Malachi's man for his grace!"

Castiel shook his head, in fervent denial to Bartholomew as much as to himself. "Who I was, what I did, that's not who I am."

Not anymore, not that he now knew he had a soul. And maybe that wasn't worth much, being the one and only failed prototype, but Castiel had always vowed to honor and protect humans, because they were his father's creations. Their souls shone as brightly as the stars in the cosmos. So if he had one, too…he owed it to everything he stood for and believed in, to not lose it.

Yes, he'd done horrible, atrocious things. And maybe having a soul was the reason he was capable of that. Or maybe…maybe it was why he was able to change, why he could look back on his actions with remorse and contrition, and resolve to do better. He'd told Sam he understood more about being human now, had attributed it to his brief time as a mortal. But what if it wasn't? Hadn't his understanding started long before that? What if this soul he apparently possessed had given him that capacity from the start? And it was only with increased interactions with humans that he had begun to learn? Something no other angel had ever accomplished.

Bartholomew's face reddened with growing anger. "No? Then who are you? I want to work with you, Castiel, but I need proof." He threw an arm out to encompass the guards who were watching. "They need proof that they were wrong. That you can do what has to be done. This has to be done."

A strange calmness settled over Castiel as he realized the truth of the situation. With it came clarity, and a sense of peace. Right here, in this moment, was his chance to be different from all the angels who did nothing but follow orders, whether for good or evil. And for once, Castiel was proud to stand apart.

"I was never free to leave. My only choice was to obey or be killed." He lifted his chin in defiance and handed the blade back to Bartholomew. "Well, I choose."

Bartholomew wrapped his fingers around the hilt and turned away. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but a pregnant pause. Gadreel was blinking at Castiel with wide, disbelieving eyes. The angel guards exchanged wary looks.

"I am truly sorry to hear that," Bartholomew finally said, setting the blade on the coffee table. He turned around, reaching one hand up to unbutton his collar. "As your refusal makes perfectly clear, you always thought you were better than me. Shall we put your superiority to the test once and for all?"

Castiel tensed as Bartholomew sauntered forward, and then the militant punched Castiel in the face. Castiel refused to move, and Bart punched him again. A copper tang splashed into Castiel's mouth as his lip split.

"No," he ground out. "Angels fighting angels…has to stop somewhere." He lifted his head. "Might as well stop with me."

Bartholomew stepped back and picked up the angel blade again. "Fine." He lunged toward Castiel.

Castiel threw his hand up and managed to catch Bartholomew's arm. The blade hovered between them, tip inches from Castiel's chest as he fought to keep it from plunging the rest of the way down.

The angel guards started forward.

"Stand down!" Bartholomew snapped. "This is between me and the rebel." His nostrils flared with rage, and Castiel could see the mad intent gleaming in his eyes. The blade wavered closer, and Castiel's muscles started to quiver.

He threw a punch across Bartholomew's jaw, then brought his arm around to elbow the angel's sword arm, pitching him forward. Castiel spun around to Bart's back and captured him in a headlock, the angel blade now poised over Bartholomew's throat.

The angel let out a long string of chuckles. "To the victor." Then he sobered. "Do it."

Castiel was nearly shaking from the adrenaline of battle instincts and the response of fight or flight. He glanced at the guards, who were fuming and ready to intervene if not for Bartholomew's order, and then at Gadreel, whose expression was oddly calm and questioning.

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath, and with great effort, shoved Bartholomew away. "No."

The militant angel's knees hit the floor, and he didn't get up. "What are you now? One of those sniveling penitents?"

Castiel felt a pang in his chest. "I'm nothing."

He shot a glare at the angel guards, and then took a step toward Gadreel, bending down and slicing through the angel's bonds.

"You never did understand, Castiel," Bartholomew said behind him. "There can be no peace without bloodshed."

Gadreel's eyes widened and he made a noise through the gag. Castiel spun back around just as Bartholomew lunged again. He caught the angel's wrist and used Bartholomew's own momentum to drive his angel blade down and up, stabbing into his own chest. Bartholomew screamed as light blazed forth from his gaping eyes and mouth.

Castiel yanked the blade out in disgust, letting the body drop. Breathing heavily, he stared in regret at yet another action he hadn't wanted to commit, but had been forced into. The last of Castiel's strength started to bleed out with that crushing realization.

He staggered wearily to where Gadreel knelt on the floor, ropes and gag cast limply across the rug. Castiel held out his hand. Gadreel tilted his head up to look at him for a moment, and then accepted it. Castiel helped haul the angel to his feet, and they turned toward the door, stopping when the guards refused to move.

"Let us pass," Castiel said, exhaustion seeping into his voice. He didn't have it in him to fight any more today.

One of the guards tried to surge forward, but the second shot his arm out to stop him. For a moment, the four of them glared at each other, and then the second angel stepped back. The first glowered, but followed suit. They always did follow orders.

Castiel pushed past them and out the doors, Gadreel on his heels. Once outside, Castiel was better able to determine their location in relation to where they'd been grabbed from. And it would be quite a walk back to his car.

Neither of them spoke as they made their escape, though both kept casting guarded glances over their shoulders until Boyle Ministries, Inc. was out of sight and several blocks away. No angels pursued them.

After a while, Gadreel cleared his throat. "I want to thank you, Castiel."

"For what?" he muttered, too tired to think very clearly. He just wanted to get away from this place, go back to the bunker and be around family who weren't always forcing him to kill them in self defense.

Gadreel grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. "You could have saved yourself if you did what Bartholomew wanted."

Castiel blinked at him. "You mean torture you?" He shook his head in revulsion and started walking again. "No."

Gadreel's heavy steps followed. "Do you truly have a way to reopen Heaven?" he asked.

Castiel sighed. Right, there was still that. "The Winchesters and I have spoken with a very reliable source."

"Who?"

"Death."

Gadreel's eyes widened a fraction, and they lapsed into silent strides for a few more moments. "Very well," he finally said. "I will help you."

Castiel drew to a stop and lifted his brows in surprise. "You will?"

A muscle in Gadreel's cheek twitched, and he glanced away in apparent discomfort. "What you did back there…we were still enemies at the time. Metatron…" Gadreel's jaw worked as though the words he wanted tasted sour. "He would not have done the same."

Castiel clasped his forearm. "Thank you."

Gadreel gave a clipped nod. "I will retrieve what I can of the prophet's notes and come to the Men of Letters bunker as soon as I may."

Castiel nodded in return, feeling a swell of hope. Now they might have a chance.

Chapter Text

Sam was returning from his morning run when Cas's car pulled up the driveway.

"So?" he asked once Cas had parked and gotten out. The angel looked…tired, shoulders stooping lower than usual.

"He will help."

Sam didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. They needed Gadreel, but the angel had killed Kevin, and now he wanted to just…change his mind about whose side he was on?

Cas's words about Ruby echoed in Sam's head, fueling his ire. He didn't want to have anything in common with the son-of-a-bitch that had possessed him without his knowledge.

"Where's Dean?" Cas asked, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts.

"Inside."

Cas angled a considering look at him. "I take it things are still strained between you two?"

Sam's throat tightened. The truth was he'd said some things he wished he hadn't, that he didn't even mean, not really. But he was still so angry, because Dean still didn't think he'd done anything wrong, didn't acknowledge how hurt and betrayed Sam felt by the whole thing. How he had every right to feel that way. So, yeah, things were still 'strained.'

Sam turned and headed for the door, Cas following behind. Dean was down in the library study area with his laptop and an open bottle of beer, one of the few times he wasn't holed away in his room. One of the few times Sam wasn't, either.

At the sound of the bunker door, though, Dean closed his laptop and picked it up to leave, but stopped when he saw Cas was back. "You find Gadreel?" he asked gruffly.

Cas nodded, and went to sink into one of the chairs. "Yes. He's gone to retrieve Kevin's notes, and will then bring them here."

Sam stiffened, as did Dean.

"Wait, what? He's coming here?" Dean exploded.

Cas frowned up at him. "He already knows the bunker's location, and it's the safest place we can all talk."

"Or he could bring Metatron!"

Cas practically rolled his eyes. "If Metatron wanted to attack the bunker, he would have already. Besides…I trust Gadreel."

Dean snorted. "Oh, you trust him. Because you have a great track record with stuff like that."

Sam was not thrilled about this, either, but he shot his brother a dark glower for taking it out on Cas.

The angel rose to his feet sharply. "I understand your anger, Dean, but I need Gadreel's help to reopen Heaven." Cas turned his gaze away, shaking his head. "I'll meet with him somewhere else, and depending on what the spell requires, I will try to get Kevin's notes back to you once I'm done." He started walking back out toward the stairs.

"No," Sam blurted. "No, no." He hurried around in front of Cas and put his hands up to keep the angel back. "We're in this together, remember?" Besides, they had no idea what this spell entailed or if it would be dangerous. No way was Sam letting Cas go off to do it on his own.

Cas lowered his voice to a gentler tone than what he'd used with Dean. "I don't want things to be uncomfortable for you, Sam." He glanced to his right. "For either of you."

"I know, but we've made alliances like this before for the greater good. I can handle it." Sam threw Dean another pointed look.

His brother scowled. "Fine," Dean huffed. "Guess it's a good thing we just got Kevin out of here, then."

Cas furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? I thought Kevin was dead."

"Yeah," Sam answered. "His, uh, ghost was still here, though. What with Heaven being closed."

Cas's eyes widened. "Oh. That's…I should have realized." He glanced around the room. "Ghosts typically can't travel far from where they died. How did you remove him from the bunker?"

"We found the object he was tied to," Sam said. "Gave it to his mom."

"After we rescued her from being held captive in one of Crowley's storage units," Dean put in.

Cas arched an eyebrow. "Why would Crowley have kept Mrs. Tran prisoner?"

"Leverage." Dean shrugged. "Who knows with Crowley; he's always up to something."

"Yet you two were buddy-buddy just last week," Sam said pointedly, earning a pissy glare. It wasn't even that he cared that Dean had gone hunting with Crowley; they'd worked with the demon before. It was more that Dean would rather team up with the King of Hell than stay and apologize to his own brother for screwing him over.

Without a retort, Dean snatched up his beer and stalked off toward the kitchen. Sam just shook his head.

"Anything we can do in the meantime?" he asked Cas.

Cas's shoulders slumped. "I wish there was, but I'm afraid all we can do is wait for Gadreel."

Sam nodded; he'd figured as much. "How are you doing, with everything?"

Cas moved to retake his seat. "I now understand what you went through with the Trials, not knowing what needed to be done next and waiting on someone else to find the information for you. It's…frustrating."

Sam sat across from him. "Yeah, it is. But I meant with…you having a soul. That's kind of a major bombshell."

The lines around Cas's eyes tightened, and he didn't respond for a long moment. "I've always been…different. Than other angels. Naomi spent a lot of time trying to fix me." His mouth twisted at the phrase.

Sam didn't know half of what went down with Naomi, only the little bit Dean had told him about Cas being mind whammied in Lucifer's crypt. It sounded as though there was more to it than just that, though.

"I suppose it's…a relief," Cas went on. "Knowing there's a reason I was always different. But it's also…isolating. I never truly belonged in Heaven, and knowing what I do now, I never will."

Sam shifted in his seat. "I used to feel that way. Back when I had my powers because of the demon blood—before I knew what they meant. All I'd ever wanted growing up was a normal life, and it wasn't enough that I had to be a hunter, but part monster too?" He shook his head. "I felt alone in the world."

Cas nodded thoughtfully. "And now?"

Sam opened his mouth to say he always had his brother, but hesitated at the last second. "We find places to belong," he said instead. "And people who care about us for who we are." His heart clenched at the thought of all the loved ones they'd lost over the years.

Cas gave him a wan smile, and they lapsed into silence. After a while, Sam got up to do something, just to keep busy. He and Cas started puttering around the library, sorting through books. They might not have contained information to help with their current problem, but organizing could help for down the road.

Dean hovered in the hallways, sometimes joining them, sometimes hanging out in the adjacent study area. Sam had half-expected him to just stay in his room like he'd been doing, but then, Sam wasn't doing that with Cas around. It used to be Dean was the uniting factor for Sam and the angel; now it seemed Cas was the bridge between the brothers. Though they still weren't exactly talking.

It was another two days before there was a loud knock on the bunker's door. The three of them were in the study area, Sam and Dean each on their laptops, Cas reading a book. They exchanged glances before Cas got up to go answer. Sam's muscles coiled tightly with trepidation as he listened to Gadreel's voice filter down. He took a deep breath; he could do this.

Cas led Gadreel up the steps from the war room and into the study area. The latter angel paused, casting a wary look at Sam and Dean. He lifted a leather satchel.

"I have brought all of the prophet's notes." Gadreel tossed it onto the table rather than take another step forward.

Sam reached for it and began pulling out the loose papers. Dean was shooting murderous daggers at the angel.

"The Tablet's location, unfortunately," Gadreel continued, "is known only to Metatron, and he is using it to increase his power. He's…planning to declare himself the new God."

Cas snorted. "I can speak from personal experience that such a thing will not turn out well."

Gadreel's mouth thinned. "In any case, it will make challenging him that much more difficult."

"Kevin had translated the entire section about the spell that cast the angels out," Sam put in, sorting through the sheets of notes. "So as long as one of you can read Elamite, we should already have an answer."

Gadreel nodded, then turned to Cas. "I was approached by one of Bartholomew's angels who'd captured us."

Sam whipped his head up, momentarily distracted.

Cas's mouth pressed into a tight line of displeasure. "Did you kill him?"

"No," Gadreel replied curtly. "The opposite, in fact; he wanted to join our cause."

"Hold up," Dean interrupted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Cas shot him an exasperated look. "Nothing."

"When were you two captured by angels?" Sam pressed, recognizing Cas's tendency to brush these kinds of things off.

Gadreel glanced between the brothers in confusion. "Four days ago."

Sam skewered Cas with a disbelieving glare.

"When were you gonna mention that?" Dean demanded.

"It wasn't relevant," Cas retorted.

"Sounds like it is."

Dean and Cas glowered at each other for a prolonged beat.

"What happened?" Sam asked Gadreel.

The angel appeared slightly taken aback at being addressed, and flicked an uncertain look at Cas. "We were captured by Bartholomew's faction. I was beaten, and then Bartholomew tried to coerce a show of loyalty from Castiel by having him torture me. Castiel refused."

Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. Why hadn't Cas told them? "How'd you escape?"

"I killed Bartholomew," Cas ground out.

"It was self-defense," Gadreel said, defending Cas with a vehemence that surprised Sam. "And only after you stood there, accepting several blows without raising a hand in turn." Gadreel actually sounded slightly awed. "One of the guards who let us leave was inspired by your refusal to fight Bartholomew. He said that he hadn't realized angels had a choice, but that you, Castiel, showed him there was another way. He expressed his desire to follow you instead of the other factions."

Cas shook his head fervently in what looked like alarm. "No. I'm no leader, Gadreel."

Gadreel regarded him for a moment. "In any case, he was not the only one. Other angels have begun to emerge who say the same." Gadreel hesitated. "I accepted their help, and have begun placing them within Metatron's ranks to aid us in the fight when the time comes."

Sam's brows shot upward. That…could actually be very useful. Cas, however, did not look happy at all.

"You've led an army before," Sam pointed out.

"Yes, and that worked out so well," Cas rejoined, a bit of an edge in his tone.

Sam frowned, but decided not to press it. He turned his attention back to Kevin's notes, and finally recognized the sheet they'd shown Crowley all those weeks ago.

"I got it." He slid the paper toward the angels.

Cas and Gadreel stepped up to the edge of the table, both sharpening their gazes in concentration.

Gadreel's tense expression fell in apparent disappointment. "It says an angel's soul must be used as a power source to reopen Heaven." He shook his head. "It is impossible, then."

Sam exchanged a guarded look with Dean, unsure if they were going to share what they knew with the rogue angel. Both of them turned their gazes to Cas, whose mouth had disappeared in a thin line.

"I have what we need," he said.

Gadreel furrowed his brow. "How?"

Cas's throat bobbed. "Apparently, out of all the angels in Heaven…I do possess a soul. At least according to Death. And he would have no reason to lie."

Gadreel's eyes widened, and after a moment, he picked up the piece of paper with the spell. Instead of looking eager, though, his expression pinched with what might have been concern. "The ingredients are fairly simple, but to use an angel's soul as the power source…" He flicked a glance at Cas. "You would be channeling an immense amount of energy in order to reopen Heaven."

Sam tensed. That didn't sound good.

Cas nodded. "I know." He scanned the sheet. "I believe we have most of these ingredients, and can begin immediately."

"Whoa, wait a second," Dean exclaimed. "It sounds like we're talking about using you like a damn battery."

Cas stared at him. "And?"

Dean's brows rose sharply. "And it sounds dangerous." He got to his feet and waved an impatient hand at Gadreel. "Does it say what the potential side effects are of doing something like that?"

Gadreel shifted uncomfortably. "It does not."

"It doesn't matter, Dean," Cas replied. "Angels fighting angels on earth won't stop until Heaven is reopened. It's my fault they were cast out to begin with, so it's my responsibility to fix it."

"What if this could kill you?"

Cas took a centering breath. "It's a risk we'll have to take."

Now Sam rose from his chair. "No, we need more information first. Maybe there are safeguards we can use…"

"I concur," Gadreel spoke up, surprising Sam. "We should be sure what is required before committing to such a drastic plan."

"It's the only option we have!" Cas argued. He whirled toward Sam. "You said your life was no more valuable than anyone else's. Well, neither is mine."

Sam's jaw actually dropped. "You disagreed with me! You said sacrificing myself wasn't worth it." He cast a nervous glance at Dean and Gadreel, really not wanting to go into the details surrounding that conversation. The other angel only seemed perplexed, while Dean looked close to being sick.

Sam scowled at Cas. "You can't tell me I'm worth saving, and then throw yourself on a grenade the next minute."

Cas shook his head in mounting frustration. "Being human means settling debts, correct? So if I do have a soul, that puts me on the same level. I now have a chance to fix my mistakes." He flicked a wary glance at Dean before quickly looking back at Sam. "You wanted to make that choice for yourself, so let me make mine."

Sam felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and he wanted to strangle Cas for the angel's stupid hypocrisy. "How about the fact that you have a soul, the only one out of all the angels, makes your life just as important as ours?" He was practically shouting now, which was almost weird with Dean the one being oddly quiet. "You were right, Cas. You showed me life is precious, and that includes yours."

Some of Cas's anger bled out, replaced with what looked like grief. "Maybe you're right, Sam. But you and Dean would sacrifice yourselves for each other. You have done that. Because you're family. I…I need to do the same for mine." Cas looked between Sam and Dean, expression softening. "I know you've hurt each other at times, often in the process of doing what you thought was right to save the other."

Sam's throat tightened, and he couldn't help glancing at his brother. Dean met his gaze and looked away.

"But you always forgive," Cas continued with a sad smile. "Eventually. And…and I have to hope that my family will forgive me after this." He looked at Gadreel then and nodded. "Let's get the ingredients together."

Gadreel hesitated a fraction of a second before dipping his head in acquiescence and gathering up the paper detailing the spell. He cast a regretful look at the Winchesters before following Cas down to the archives where the spell supplies were kept.

Shaking his head in frustration, Sam pivoted and began to pace. He couldn't believe Cas. After all that crap about how Sam shouldn't sacrifice himself, Cas was turning around and doing the exact same thing. And for what? A false notion of family? Those angels weren't Cas's family, not like Sam and Dean were.

He heard Dean let out a soft snort. "Feels like shit, doesn't it?"

Sam shot him a sharp glower.

Dean sank wearily back into his seat. "So are we just gonna let him do this? Respect his wishes or whatever like you wish I'd done?"

Sam wanted to deliver a scathing retort, but the truth was he was just as angry with himself as he was with Dean and Cas at the moment. "Can you?"

Dean stared at the table top as though seriously considering the question. "I don't know. Every bone in my body is screaming at me not to. But wasn't that your point?" His tone turned bitter. "I only save people I care about so I won't have to be alone?"

Sam's stomach churned at the memory of those callous words and the look of devastation on his brother's face. "You didn't have to trick me into letting an angel possess me."

Dean's eyes flashed darkly. "You'd given up. You were about to walk off with Death himself. I didn't have any other options in that moment. And I'm sorry if my saving your ass pissed you off. Because I watched you die before, Sam. More than once. I couldn't do it again!" He looked away, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

Sam just stared. He hadn't really tried to see things from Dean's point of view, too caught up in his own feelings of hurt and betrayal. And when he'd been doing the Trials, when they'd been making him sick almost to the point of dying, Dean had only been able to watch helplessly. The man who was used to taking action, fighting evil and winning, couldn't do a damn thing to help his brother.

"I've watched Cas die before, too," Dean continued, voice cracking slightly. He shook his head, an almost hysterical chuckle breaking free. "Is that really the lesson I'm supposed to learn here? Step back and let you two throw yourselves in front of buses?"

Sam swallowed hard. It was different when he was on the other side of things. Cas's arguments about the necessity of this were logical and just the kind Sam would make if he was in the angel's shoes. But Sam wasn't, and he found the view from Dean's side was actually worse than standing on the precipice of death.

He moved forward and took the seat across from his brother, letting out a strained breath. "Yeah, we step back and let Cas try."

Dean's eyes glistened, and he looked away.

"But," Sam continued firmly. "When everything starts going to shit—because it probably will—we also get ready to catch him."

Dean looked back, startled. Sam gave him a nod of not only shared understanding, but also the beginnings of forgiveness. Dean had just been looking out for him. Sure, they could both probably use some practice on doing it better, but for right now, they had another brother's back to watch.

Chapter Text

Castiel stood in the middle of an open field as the sun sank lower over the surrounding tree tops. A waxing gibbous moon was already out, as was Venus on the horizon. They'd chosen this location because of the amount of power the spell would require, and Castiel didn't know what the results would entail. Opening Heaven, hopefully.

His heart rate was slightly elevated, an annoying throb behind his rib cage. Castiel knew he was doing the right thing, but he didn't know what to expect. Kevin's notes detailed the ritual and the intended outcome, but not what it would be like for the one undertaking it. Castiel would feel more comfortable if the Winchesters were far from this place when he began, but they had adamantly refused.

Sam walked up to him, careful not to step on the sigil Gadreel had spray painted on the grass. The younger Winchester cleared his throat nervously. "Cas, listen…I know you're doing this for your family, the angels, but…"

Castiel braced himself for another argument.

Sam let out a long breath. "I want you to remember something."

"What's that, Sam?"

The hunter reached out to clasp Castiel's shoulder. "We're your family too."

Castiel blinked at him.

"And you never have to do anything to earn it. You're right, me and Dean always forgive each other, because that's what family does. And I get why you have to do this…" Sam quickly glanced at Dean, who stood a few feet away, and sighed. "But even if the other angels forgive you, or they don't, you'll always have a place with me and Dean."

Castiel's gaze softened. "Thank you, Sam."

The younger hunter nodded, and then suddenly leaned over and wrapped his arms around Castiel, who didn't know what to do besides stand there awkwardly.

"Now's the part where you hug back," Sam said.

Castiel started. "Oh. Right. Uh, sorry." He hesitantly lifted his arms to return the embrace.

Sam chuckled. "Ah, there you go." He patted Castiel's back before stepping away.

Dean moved closer now, gaze darting across the ground uncomfortably, even as he gestured for Castiel to come forward. "Come on," he said gruffly, pulling Castiel into another hug, which the angel now knew how to reciprocate.

Dean's hug didn't last as long as Sam's, and the older Winchester quickly pushed Castiel back, gripping his shoulders and looking him in the eye. "Be careful, alright?"

Castiel felt his throat growing tighter for some inexplicable reason. He nodded. "Of course."

Gadreel stepped forward, looking reluctant to interrupt. "We are ready."

Castiel turned toward him. "Thank you, for everything."

"Thank me when we have succeeded."

Gadreel gestured to the Winchesters, and the three of them made their way out of the sigil, putting a safe measure of distance between them and the center of the spell casting. Castiel took a deep, calming breath. He could do this. And it had to work.

He lifted his angel blade and deftly sliced it across his palm. A bowl of the spell's ingredients sat at his feet, and he dribbled the drops of blood into it, uttering the incantation under his breath. The air pressure seemed to increase dramatically, pressing against him. Static buzzed along his skin, and he felt his body growing warmer and warmer.

Castiel sucked in a sharp gasp as a surge of power pulsed from deep inside him. His blade slipped from his fingers and onto the ground. Glancing down, he saw his chest had begun to glow with an ethereal silhouette. The sigil on the ground around him sizzled as well. Castiel could feel the power building, gathering in preparation. It hurt, something like holding one's breath too long underwater. With another flare, Castiel dropped to his knees.

"Cas!" Dean took a step forward, but Gadreel grabbed his arm and held the hunter back.

Castiel struggled to lift his head. "It's fine," he managed to grunt.

Dean wavered. Though the sun had disappeared beneath the trees, the clearing was brightly lit, and Castiel could see the expressions of trepidation and worry on the Winchesters' and Gadreel's faces, highlighted by the glow from Castiel's soul, which was burning brighter with the focused energy. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe through his nose.

There was a flutter of wings, and suddenly Metatron was standing in the field. The Scribe swept his gaze around, mouth dropping open in bewilderment and fury when he spotted Gadreel. He snapped his attention to Castiel.

"My, my, Castiel. You have been busy. I must insist you stop this, though."

Metatron raised a palm, outstretched toward him. Castiel's heart jolted.

Gadreel charged forward from the side, wielding his angel blade. Metatron barely gave him a second glance before waving his arm and sending the angel flying. His back struck a tree and he hit the dirt hard.

Metatron tutted. "Gadreel, I am so disappointed in you."

Sam and Dean drew their blades next. Castiel wanted to shout at them not to, but he didn't have the breath for it. He watched in horror as Metatron easily tossed the boys aside as well. They landed in a tangled heap several feet away.

Metatron turned fuming eyes on Castiel and marched forward. Castiel was shaking from the energy coursing through him, and though his blade lay inches from where he knelt, he couldn't move his arm enough to reach it, his muscles paralyzed by the electric currents running through them. Fire was burning within his chest, expanding with what felt like earth-shattering force.

Metatron gazed down at Castiel, and let out a heavy sigh. "I should have known you would figure it all out. You never did follow the script."

Castiel flicked his gaze to the angel blade in the grass. It was so close, if he could just…

Metatron noticed, and bent down to scoop it up, now holding two blades. "I was hoping that taking your grace and making you human would just let you…blend in with them."

"Did you…know?" Castiel ground out. "From…the start?"

Metatron shrugged. "It's one of the reasons I asked you to help me with the 'Trials.' I knew your heart would always yearn to help your angel brethren. All that guilt and remorse…and empathy. Pesky things, souls, aren't they?"

Castiel glanced up as a new light broke through the night sky—a crack in Heaven's gates. It was working.

Metatron angled his head up. "Well, now I have to make sure you can't ever reverse all my hard work." He raised one of the angel blades and lunged forward. All Castiel could do was brace himself for the bite of steel.

But then a figure leaped between him and Metatron, knocking the Scribe out of the way. Gadreel hit the ground and rolled onto his knees. Grace oozed from a stab wound in his shoulder, the blow that had been meant for Castiel. Before Metatron could regain his feet, Gadreel attacked, and even with two blades, Metatron was no warrior. His thrusts and parries were clumsy and erratic, and Gadreel managed to drive the Scribe back several yards from Castiel.

Gadreel sliced his weapon sideways, cutting through a gap in Metatron's defenses and scoring a slash across the smaller angel's arm. Metatron let out a yowl and stumbled out of reach. He dropped one of his blades in order to clutch at his bleeding arm, and shot Gadreel a seething glare.

"How dare you!" Metatron spat. "I. Am. God!" He thrust his hand out, and Castiel was shocked to see a bolt of lightning stream from the Scribe's palm and strike Gadreel square in the chest. That must be what juiced up on the Angel Tablet meant.

Gadreel flipped backward into the air, landing on the ground with a resounding thud. Gasping in pain, he rolled onto his hands and knees shakily, tendrils of smoke wafting from several points on his body.

Metatron turned his attention back to Castiel.

Castiel saw the Winchesters readying themselves to attack again, but they were thankfully too far away. Castiel's chest throbbed, and more light spilled out from the sky above. It was almost done, he could feel it.

He lifted his head to meet Metatron's furious glare as the Scribe closed in on him. Castiel gritted his teeth. "You lose."

It was all he managed to say before everything exploded in blinding light, whiting out every one of Castiel's senses.

Dean broke into a run to intercept Metatron before the angel could reach Cas, but then Cas exploded in a supernova of blazing energy that shot upward in a column to what looked like a crack in the sky. When the two beams of light met, the heavens fractured like glass, bursting out in a spiderweb of lightning in all directions. Dean threw his arm up to shield his face, and nearly stumbled into his brother, neither of them able to see.

That didn't stop Dean from trying. Squinting through the glare, he searched for Cas. The light pulsed, and in the white haze, Dean spotted Gadreel, bowed over on his hands and knees, two shadowy appendages arching up from his back. At first, Dean wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing—bare tree branches?

No, they were wings. Battered, broken wings. But as the sky opened up, the contours of Gadreel's pinions snapped taut. More wispy shadows sprouted from the bones in a wave of what looked like new feathers. The apparitions slowly spread out in a massive canopy, reminding Dean of a night in a barn so long ago.

He was jolted out of his awed stupor by a high-pitched voice.

"No, no, no!" Metatron shrieked, spinning in place as he watched the light diffuse through the sky.

Dean had to blink spots from his vision, but as it cleared and the nova finally died down, he spotted Cas lying on the ground, unmoving. He took a stumbling step toward the angel.

Metatron whirled at the movement, cheeks puffing red with rage. "You!"

Dean stiffened, grip tightening on the angel blade still in his hand. Sam stood just behind him, equally frozen. Metatron jerked his hand to fling them through the air, but Gadreel leaped in front of Dean, just as he'd done for Cas, maybe blocking the blow somehow, because Dean didn't feel an invisible punch to the gut. Gadreel's chest was heaving and he was barely upright, but he stood firm between Metatron and the Winchesters.

"It is over, Metatron," Gadreel said between labored breaths.

The Scribe barked out a vicious laugh. "Heaven's gates may be open again, but I am still God!" He thrust his palm outward…yet nothing happened.

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. This was unexpected.

Metatron's cheeks billowed with several sputters. He flashed his hand two more times, and then gaped at it in bafflement.

"You were never God," Gadreel said, straightening an inch. "All your power came from the Tablet—which has now been destroyed."

"Wh-" Metatron stammered. "What are you talking about?"

"Those angels I recruited, whom you let through the portal in order to serve you…were never there to grovel at the feet of Metatron. They knew you were a traitor to Heaven, and agreed to help Castiel and me restore our brothers and sisters."

Metatron's eyes widened. "Me, the traitor?" he scoffed. "You and Castiel caused far more damage than I ever did!"

"You cast every angel down to earth," Dean jumped in. "Half of them don't even like humans. I think that ranks you pretty high on their shit list."

Gadreel lifted his chin. "And now every angel knows that Castiel and I were the ones who assisted in returning them home."

Metatron fumed at him. "You do realize that it'll be civil war again up there? Between factions like Malachi and Bartholomew," he spat.

"Perhaps," Gadreel said gravely. "But you are no better."

Metatron's face crumpled in petulant defeat, and in the next instant, he was gone on a flutter of wing beats.

Sam pushed past Dean, heading straight for Cas. Dean hurried after his brother, both of them reaching the downed angel at the same time.

"Cas?" Sam called, dropping to his knees and shaking Cas's shoulder.

"Cas, come on," Dean echoed, kneeling down as well. His heart started jackhammering against his ribs for every second Cas didn't open his eyes. Dean cupped the sides of Cas's face, trying to elicit a reaction, a moan, something. But Cas was as slack and limp as he'd been when tied to that chair in April's apartment.

Dean shot a desperate look over his shoulder at Gadreel, searching for confirmation. "Is he…?"

Gadreel shuffled over, eyes full of sorrow as he gazed down at Cas. "The amount of energy Castiel channeled in order to complete the counter spell…" The angel swallowed. "Yes, he is gone."

"Well then bring him back," Dean demanded. "Like you did before."

Gadreel slowly lowered himself into a crouch at Cas's legs. "I am sorry, but Metatron's attacks have left me weakened. I…I cannot bring him back."

The worst part was he sounded genuinely grieved over the admission, and Dean did believe that if the angel were capable of it, Gadreel wouldn't hesitate to heal Cas.

"But," Sam sputtered. "Your wings. Your wings were fixed, doesn't that mean…?"

Gadreel glanced over his shoulder, perhaps seeing what the Winchesters couldn't. For a moment, a millennia of memories seemed to flood his expression—haunted pain, wonder, and heartache. He shook his head. "The spell Castiel cast restored them, yes, but I am still wounded from the fight." Evidenced by the bleeding puncture wound still in his shoulder.

Gadreel shifted, gaze falling on Cas's lax face. Slowly, he lifted a hand and hovered it over Cas's sternum. A flicker of golden light fizzled in Gadreel's palm before winking out.

Dean rocked back on his heels. No, not after everything…dammit. He looked up and met his brother's gaze. Reflected moonlight showed the moisture glistening in Sam's eyes, his jaw clenched tightly. They'd both agreed to let Cas do this, to risk himself. Because they had also promised to do everything they could to save him if things went south. And they'd failed.

Dean dropped his hand on top of Cas's chest, and closed his eyes against the swelling grief threatening to spill over. Why was he the one who always had to watch his loved ones die? Why couldn't he, for once, take the burden of sacrifice from them?

"Dammit, Cas," he muttered, unable to keep his voice from choking up.

Gadreel suddenly stiffened and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of pain. Dean glanced up, going rigid at the sight of Death standing before them. Cupped between the gangly man's hands was a swirling ball of bluish-white light, interspersed with prismatic slivers.

"An angel's soul is another of those special jobs I intend to reap personally," Death said, gazing at the entity in his palms.

Dean tensed. Cas…

Death lifted his head to look at them, and the corner of his mouth quirked. "But not today."

Dean's jaw slackened, desperate hope clawing at his throat as Death stepped closer and slowly bent down. Dean jerked his hand away when the Horseman took what must have been Cas's soul and plunged it into Cas's sternum.

Cas's back arched, his eyes flying wide open as he sucked in a huge gasp of air. Dean and Sam quickly grabbed his shoulders to hold him steady.

"Whoa, easy, easy. You're okay," Dean said, pushing Cas back down. The angel's chest continued to hitch, gulping in oxygen.

Cas blinked rapidly for several moments before he finally got his breathing under control. His eyes widened on Death standing over him.

Dean's fingers dug into Cas's shoulder. "You're okay," he repeated firmly, flicking a look up at the Horseman.

Death merely arched an eyebrow. "Let's try not to chat again too soon." He turned on his heel and began walking away.

Gadreel moved closer again, slowly kneeling down beside Dean. "He is…unnerving."

Dean swallowed as he watched Death meld into the night. "Yeah."

"Cas, how you feeling?" Sam asked.

Cas struggled to get up, and Dean and Sam each slipped an arm behind his back to help support him.

"I…I'm human again."

Dean's brows shot upward. "What? How?"

Cas dropped his gaze to his lap. "The grace I'd…stolen…it was burning out anyway. The spell must have consumed it."

"What do you mean stolen grace?" Sam demanded before Dean could.

He knew Cas had gotten new batteries or whatever…but, dammit, Dean hadn't bothered to ask how. He'd been too worried about getting Gadreel out of Sam.

Cas's shoulders hunched forward, almost as though in shame. "My grace is gone, used up in Metatron's spell. When…" He chanced a glance at Sam, voice lowering more. "When Malachi's faction captured and tortured me, I escaped by stealing another angel's grace and killing him."

Dean exchanged a bewildered look with Sam. Angels could do that? He glanced at Gadreel, whose mouth was pressed into a grim line.

Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, so you're human again," he stated as though it were no big deal.

Gadreel rose to his feet and squared his shoulders. "I will hunt down Metatron, and if there is any of your grace left, Castiel, I will find it."

Cas whipped his head up in surprise. "Gadreel, you don't have to—"

"You restored me, Castiel," the angel cut him off. "It would be my honor to return the favor." With a curt nod to Dean and Sam, Gadreel then flapped his wings and vanished.

Dean finally felt some relief seeping into his bones. He jabbed a finger at Cas. "I told you never to do that again."

Cas blinked owlishly at him. "I know. Sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Alright, let's go home." With a nod to Sam, they hauled Cas to his feet. The angel…ex-angel, swayed.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, probably to stop the world from spinning. When he cracked them open again, he lifted a wary gaze to Dean. "Since Sam is no longer possessed by an angel, would it be alright if…" He trailed off, looking abashed.

Dean's heart clenched, and he tightened his grip on his friend. "You're staying with us. No one's gonna kick you out this time, I swear."

A ghost of a smile spread on Cas's face. "Thank you."

Dean slung Cas's arm over his shoulder. "That's what family's for."

Chapter Text

Sam veered down the corridor toward the dormitory wing for the fourth time that day. Since bringing Cas back to the bunker last night, the ex-angel had been sleeping hard for nearly twelve hours. Granted, using one's soul like a battery had to be draining, but considering Cas had been dead for a bit at the end there, Sam couldn't help but be slightly worried.

He found Dean already standing outside Cas's room, the door cracked as he peered inside. At Sam's footsteps, Dean closed it and turned around.

"He still out?" Sam asked.

"Like a light." Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sure he's fine, Dean. Just exhausted."

"Yeah." Dean moved past him, heading back toward his own room.

Sam glanced at Cas's door, and then decided to follow. He paused on the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb as his brother went to grab his headphones off the desk.

Dean paused when he noticed Sam. "You need something?"

Sam worked his jaw, not entirely sure what he wanted to say, but knowing something needed to be addressed between them. They could always put their crap aside when dealing with a case, but once it was over… Well, Sam didn't want there to be continued tension now that Cas was going to be living here.

He took a deep breath. "I understand why you tricked me into letting an angel possess me."

Dean angled a slightly suspicious look at him. "Okay."

Sam crossed his arms protectively over his chest. "But do you understand why that was one of the worst violations you could ever do to me? God, Dean, I've been an angel condom before!"

Dean's jaw tightened. "I thought he was a good angel at the time, that he was trying to help. And he did help! You got better."

Sam shook his head in disgust, and it took all his might not to storm off. "Lucifer thought he was doing me a favor too, just so you know."

Dean blanched for a split second before his expression hardened again. "What do you want me to say, Sam? That I'm sorry for saving your life? Because I'm not. I'm sorry it had to be that way, and I'm sorry for all the shit that came after because I made a stupid decision. But I'm not sorry that you're still breathing."

Sam nodded slowly. He had wanted Dean to apologize for everything, but Sam had come to realize that there were some things Dean would never be sorry for. It'd always been like that, all the way back to when Dean first sold his soul to save him.

Sam lowered his voice. "I'm sorry too, for giving up on you."

Dean blinked, obviously taken aback. "What?"

"For not fighting harder to live," he clarified. "I was only thinking of myself, and not what it'd do to you if I died."

Dean looked away. "I didn't get it, Sam. In that church, you chose to live, to give up the Trials. And then…you just changed your mind?"

Sam's throat tightened. "I was…angry," he admitted. "After everything, all the pain and suffering going through the Trials…for it to all be for nothing…I guess I was tired of fighting."

"And you blamed me for talking you out of it," Dean said bitterly.

"No," Sam countered, and took a step into the room. "I didn't blame you for that, Dean. I blamed myself, blamed my weakness."

Dean lifted his gaze toward the wall. "We'll always be each other's weakness, huh?"

Sam's shoulders slumped wearily. "Maybe. Or…maybe we're each other's strength."

Dean tossed him a wry look.

"You said it—the two of us, saving people, hunting things. We make a difference."

"Not always for good," Dean muttered. "If it wasn't for me trusting Gadreel—Ezekiel—Kevin would still be alive."

"You could say the same if I'd just finished the Trials." Sam sighed heavily. "This isn't the first time we've had innocent deaths on our hands. The Apocalypse?"

Dean let out a humorless snort, and they lapsed into silence for a long moment. "If it'd been me…" Dean began. "I would've finished the Trials."

Sam reeled back as though he'd been struck.

Dean gave him an aggrieved look. "I was never able to make a life outside of hunting, not like you could. Don't you get it, Sammy? You need to be the one to survive, because at least you have a chance with me gone. I…I don't. You were right; I can't do this without you."

Sam's chest constricted. It was true, Dean never had been able to adjust like Sam could. He'd tried, with Lisa and Ben, but it hadn't worked. Maybe if Sam hadn't been soulless at the time, he could have helped his brother acclimate to civilian life. But things hadn't worked out that way.

"You know that pact we made about not looking for each other?"

Dean shook his head and turned away, shoulders bunching. "Yeah," he said gruffly.

"I think we should make a new one." Sam let out a long breath. "To always fight to make it back to each other."

Dean whipped his head back around, surprise etched on his face.

Sam nodded. "If we're gonna keep fighting evil, things are gonna get hairy. We might even have to make sacrifices, like Cas did yesterday. But as long as we always try to come back…" He hesitated. Death was an expected part of a hunter's life, and the Horseman would come for Sam and Dean someday. But…given their track record, they could make sure it was a long way off.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sure? Because you know I make stupid decisions when it comes to saving my little brother."

Sam's lips quirked. "Yeah, well, maybe if you know I'm actively involved in such decisions, you can make better ones."

Dean smirked, and shrugged. "We've seen weirder things happen."

Sam broke into a smile. "Like having to teach an ex-angel to be human."

Dean's expression shifted to a mixture of shared humor and concern. "Yeah. If the lazy bones will ever get out of bed."

Castiel shifted on the soft surface beneath him, his head too fuzzy to recognize where he was. He only knew that he was currently warm and comfortable. He lay still for awhile longer, floating between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes he felt a presence shift around him, a hand adjusting the cocoon he was wrapped in, but it wasn't enough to fully stir him. But then his senses gradually started sharpening, and he was eventually able to pry his eyelids open without too much resistance.

He was lying on a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, a blanket rucked up around him. Blinking blearily, Castiel roved his gaze across the walls and down to the small desk lamp illuminating the room with a soft glow. He vaguely remembered the drive back from the field, and then the Winchesters helping him down the stairs. By that time he had been nearly dead on his feet.

…Perhaps that wasn't the best metaphor, given he had actually been dead. Castiel was beginning to lose count of how many times he'd been resurrected, a morbidly amusing thought.

He turned his head to the side, debating whether he wanted to try getting up yet. The bed was very comfortable, and he'd rarely had an opportunity to enjoy one the last time he'd been human.

Speaking of his current predicament, Castiel hadn't yet had time to consider his situation. Being human the first time around had been…difficult. And while he hadn't set out to steal another angel's grace in order to restore his powers, he couldn't deny that being an angel again had made things easier.

But he could not—would not—kill another angel in order to steal more grace. Which left him stuck once again learning how to navigate humanity. Castiel thought Dean had said he could stay this time. For real. But his head was still a little groggy, and he wasn't sure if that was just wishful thinking. Though, Sam wasn't being possessed by an angel who wanted Castiel gone, so that was a point in his favor.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then it cracked open and Sam poked his head in. The younger Winchester smiled.

"Hey, Cas, you're finally awake."

Castiel pushed himself up and scooted back to lean against the headboard. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About fifteen hours." Sam pushed his way in, a plate in one hand and glass in the other. "Dean and I were a little concerned, but we figured being a soul power generator was exhausting."

"It was." Castiel was somewhat surprised he hadn't slept longer; he felt as though he could have rested for a week. "Have you heard anything from Gadreel, or…about the angels?" He knew the spell had worked, that Heaven had been reopened. The spell had also apparently restored the fallen angels' wings, something Castiel had not foreseen but was very glad about, though he felt a small twinge at his own loss.

Sam shook his head regretfully. Castiel swallowed his disappointment. He knew the angels that Gadreel had recruited at the last minute would be trying to restore order in Heaven once the angels were allowed to return, and he dearly hoped they would succeed. But he had also wanted to know if…if he was forgiven.

But given his now human state, perhaps it didn't even matter; he would not be returning to Heaven. Though, he had to wonder with some trepidation, where did an angel's soul go when it died? One would think given how many times Castiel had died before that he would remember. But if there was something, it was beyond his recall. Maybe because there wasn't anything.

Castiel's stomach suddenly rumbled.

Grinning, Sam handed him the plate, which bore a sandwich. "Thought you'd be starving when you woke up. PB&J, with grape jelly, not jam."

Castiel blinked in surprise, oddly touched that Sam had remembered and gone to the trouble. "Thank you."

He accepted the plate and looked at the sandwich, cautiously optimistic about how it would taste. Gingerly picking it up, he took a small bite. The warmed bread instantly melted in his mouth, and the sweet fruitiness of the jelly mixed with nutty peanut butter was tantalizing to his taste buds. Castiel closed his eyes and made a small noise of appreciation.

"Doesn't taste like molecules?" Sam asked.

Castiel opened his eyes to find the Winchester grinning widely. "No, it tastes wonderful. Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome." Sam set the glass of water on the nightstand, and then pulled the desk chair over to sit in it. "Dean said he'll go out for those burritos you liked."

Castiel's mouth watered at the promise, and he took a hearty bite of the sandwich. "That'd be nice," he said around a full mouth.

Sam's lips twitched, but then his expression sobered. "So, do you think Gadreel will be able to find your grace?"

Castiel lowered the sandwich, some of the taste turning to sand on his tongue. "I don't know. I doubt there was any left after the spell." He sighed. "But if anyone knows for sure, it's Metatron."

Sam nodded. "Well, in the meantime, you'll have plenty to eat and a roof over your head here. Always," he added emphatically, as though Castiel had needed the reassurance. Perhaps he did, and the promise did make him feel better.

"I appreciate it," he said. "And I can be useful on cases. I still have my angelic knowledge, and can still fight."

Sam smiled again. "Good. Because we've still got a Knight of Hell on the loose."

Castiel held back a sigh. It never truly ended. But, thus was the life of a soldier. He looked at the sandwich. "At least food is one good thing about my being human again."

Sam leaned forward, expression earnest. "There will be others. Me and Dean will try to be better teachers this time."

Castiel felt his mouth lift in a small smile. He may not have had his grace, but the soul he possessed was still a warm ember simmering deep inside him. And whether he had wings or was mortal, it gave him the capacity to fit in among the world of angels and the world of men.

And maybe…he had always preferred to fit with the Winchesters.